


In Between Wars

by YashaAndKaya



Category: Defense of the Ancients | Dota, Dota 2
Genre: Adult Invoker, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Invoker, Denial, Dota 2 Lore, Explicit Sexual Content, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Underlords references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-01-05 07:53:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18361775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YashaAndKaya/pseuds/YashaAndKaya
Summary: After their victory, Anti-Mage and Invoker are banned from the next war and find themselves embroiled in other adventures. Amidst his hunt for the Dead God and his work for the Tyler Estate, Anti-Mage finds it increasingly difficult to stick to his principles. But more than that, he finds himself entangled in something deeper than physical desire.





	1. Banned

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aditu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aditu/gifts), [AmyAndAmnesia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyAndAmnesia/gifts).



> The story is based on Dota 2 lore and headcanon. It continues after my other fic, Elements.
> 
> In this chapter, the two bits of lore referred to are:
> 
> \- The Chains of Abscession, an ancient relic corrupted by the Dead God which now serves its master in its desire to hunt down Anti-Mage. It has since fallen into Pudge's hands.
> 
> \- Anti-Mage working with Nortrom at the Tyler Estate, an institution that opposes magic.

 

It is over. The enemy stronghold is overrun with our troops. Months of intense back-and-forth skirmishes culminate in the cathartic explosion of theDire ancient.

With our mission complete, it is time for us to be transported back to the town hall. This process begins with the five of us being whisked into a tunnel of space-time where we fall through dark nothingness. It is a dizzying journey, but not unpleasant.

Unsure of how much time is elapsing, I close my eyes and focus inward.

Scenes from our recent battles come back in fragments, still vivid and raw. One of them in particular, stays. 

 _I am standing deep in the Dire jungle. There’s been a messy clash and everyone else in my team has fled, heavily injured. So am I. The blood pouring from my chest wound slows into a steady trickle and I feel close to fainting. The Bloodseeker is practically flying towards me with his canine jaws wide open._   _Gripping my blades, I dig my heels into the dirt and steel myself to fight tooth and nail with him._

_A hand lands on my shoulder. It is Carl’s. “I’m here,” he says to my ear, his tone low but reassuring. What happens next is hazy but I remember the sight of the Bloodseeker transformed into a harmless pig and roasted to a crisp._

_After that, Carl’s hand remains on my shoulder longer than necessary. I don’t understand why he has to do that, but it gives me a feeling I can’t describe. Kind of warm and fuzzy. Almost as if..._

All five of us are back at the town hall, where we are greeted by a large gathering of hundreds of people. 

“Welcome back, our victorious heroes!” A thundering voice announces, and the crowd, made up of young and old alike, cheers enthusiastically. I rub my hands over my face, still dazed from the teleportation journey, lack of sleep and general fatigue. When I recover, I see Lina running towards a couple who look like they are her parents. Sven has a girl in his arms, and Zharvakko has disappeared among the sea of townsfolk.

All this excitement is new and slightly overwhelming to me. It is clearly not new to Carl, though - he is completely at ease with being the center of attention. Gilded cloak flowing, he struts towards the exit, calm and unbothered by the swarms of screaming, swooning women clamoring after him. It takes me a while to realize that they are after me, as well, when I spot a pair of red knickers flying towards my face.

“Anti-Maaage!” A female voice shrieks.

I sidestep the flying piece of underwear in the same way I dodge Pudge’s hook. Blinking away is not an option as there is a rule against using our powers in full view of the common folk.

Good, so where do I go now?

Eventually, with Carl’s help, I manage to escape from the frenzied crowd, slipping into the streets. He lets go of my arm as our footsteps slow down.

One good thing about not being allowed to use our powers, is that Carl doesn’t reek so much of magic as he strolls beside me without his fancy orbs. Some heads turn our direction, probably because of the way he is dressed. But no one bothers us.

“What’s next?” I wonder aloud, feeling somewhat lost. It is late afternoon and the streets are filled with the sights and sounds of townsfolk going about their daily hustle and bustle. Vendors are hawking their remaining wares at low prices. Children are playing by the roadside, laughing as they form a human train. I am not used to such peace and mundaneness, after years of travelling along deserted and treacherous routes for my mage-slaying quests.

“A medal ceremony, and a homecoming banquet,” Carl answers without missing a beat. It seems he has been through the drill several times.

Neither activity sounds particularly appealing to me. “And after that?”

“We get drafted into another war.”

I nod briefly. Now it makes sense to have a rest before heading into the next round of bloodshed.

A commotion to my left catches my attention. Apparently a boy has stolen something from a stall and is being chased by the angry seller. This brings to me back to my own childhood. I was a wayward kid then, getting into all kinds of trouble, running away from school, stealing, fighting for the dumbest of reasons - all this resulting in being thrown out by my own parents. But everything changed when I entered the Turstarkuri Monastery. I found purpose in life. I discovered my talents and learned the value of hard work from the monks and the wise abbot I regarded as my father. I was a completely changed youth.

_Until the filth came and took away everything from me._

My thoughts return to the present. Carl has his hand on my back, pushing me towards a tavern called the Sun and Moon.

“Come.”

I look at him. His demeanor outside of the battlefield is starkly different. Much more tolerable, relaxed, I’d say even friendly. He seems to switch between the two modes with ease, compared to me.

Well, whether inside or outside battle, the fact still remains that he’s the Invoker.

I should part ways with him now, but...

...the aroma of food and wine rushes to me when the tavern’s door swings open, drawing hunger pangs. Quieting my stomach now becomes an immediate priority. The interior is spacious, with lofty ceilings supported by sturdy wooden beams and large candlelit chandeliers. The tables are packed with travelers from diverse backgrounds, the bar area bustling with the lively chatter of drinkers. I can again sense several pairs of eyes on us, but I try to ignore them the way Carl does.

A provocatively-dressed waitress leads us to our seats at one of the corner tables. Carl grins charmingly at her and orders a variety of dishes, most of which are unfamiliar to me – goose meat, pigeon, shrimp, oysters. He urges me to sample them but I settle for a mutton stew. For drinks he orders apple wine, which he insists is very mild, but I decline and ask for arrowroot tea instead.

Glancing up, I see a uniformed young man approaching our table. He says nothing, only handing us each a rolled parchment. I open mine, expecting it to be an invitation to the medal ceremony or banquet that Carl mentioned.

“You are banned from participating in the next war,” the document reads. Below the message is an official-looking seal, and there is no other information.  Apparently, Carl has received the exact same thing. I try to wrap my head around the puzzling news.

“Banned?” I frown at the messenger.

The man nods. “The authorities on both sides have come to the agreement that the Anti-Mage and the Invoker will be excluded from the upcoming war.”

“But why?”

“The reason is not stated.” The courier turns to leave before I can ask him anything more.

Our food arrives slowly but steadily. “Let’s dig in,” Carl says heartily, but I can only sit and brood over the unexpected news. What could be the reason for not allowing me to fight in the next war, after all my efforts and our victorious outcome? What does it all mean? I ask Carl about this.

“It simply means, my friend, that we did an excellent job,” he chuckles. “You carried us to victory, but of course, you wouldn’t have done it without me.”

I raise my brows, but remain silent. His answer is soothing to my ego, but I won’t let success get to my head. That, and I also want to clarify that I am not his ‘friend’. But that can wait. There are more pressing matters for now.

“Is this ban… permanent?”

“No, but there will be some time to wait before we can join a war,” he explains in between mouthfuls of food. “It could be months, or even years.”

I let that sink in for a moment. The wars are a good source of income but now that the next opportunity is uncertain, I have to think of what to do in the meantime.

“So, what are your plans?” Carl asks, sipping his wine. I don’t understand why he keeps poking his nose into my life. But since he asked, I will tell him the truth without mincing my words.

“There is plenty to do,” I declare, gulping down a mouthful of stew. “Turstarkuri has yet to be avenged. The fight against magic never ends.” One more thing I have almost forgotten: that is to report to the Silencer at the Tyler Estate. But I am not telling Carl that. He is number one on the Estate’s watchlist, a fact he is probably aware of.

“Hmm,” he remarks thoughtfully. “The fight against  _necromancy_ , you mean. After all, wasn’t it the Dead God and his necromancers who’d destroyed your monastery?”

I snap my head up at him. “How did you know all this?”

He leans back against the chair casually. “Of course I do. Turstarkuri’s destruction was a significant event. Following that incident, you declared a blanket war on all mages, even though necromancers were the ones who did you wrong.”

“Magic is an abomination,” I insist, spitting out each word as though it has a bitter taste. “All magic is.”

Carl doesn’t appear at all agitated by what I said, only letting out a sigh.

“Well, Anti-Mage,” he begins slowly, clasping his hands together and leaning forward as if wanting to tell me something important. A few thick locks of silvery-blond hair tumble over his face. He gathers the errant locks, sweeps them back and secures them with a tie. “You have vanquished some noteworthy sorcerers, such as Hroth, Throsho and Sashk. But the Dead God is a deity, and will require a much higher level of skill and expertise to defeat.”

A huff escapes my lips. “I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job. The Dead God is my business, not yours.”

“Well, he is my business, now.”

“How so?”

“It is thanks to the Dead God that you hold an unrelenting hatred against me. Isn’t that enough reason for me to hunt down this entity as well?”

I am unsure of how to respond to this.

Carl takes the liberty to continue speaking. “We will pursue this wicked abomination to the ends of the world and make him pay for what he did.” His lips stretch into what he thinks is a reassuring smile.

I glare at him. What's worse than being banned from a war is being drafted into the same team as a mage whose arrogance is only matched by his vanity. This clown doesn’t know what he is talking about. He doesn’t know what it’s like to witness his friends being brutalized and raised as shuffling corpses, to watch his brothers chanting the name of the Dead God through rotting lips falling off their faces like the rest of their decaying body parts.

What does he think I am, a sulking kid who’s dropped his ice-cream in the dirt?

“My pain is not for your amusement,” I simmer quietly.

“I did not say it was.”

“Do you know what it’s like to lose the only people you’ve ever cared about?“

He goes silent for a moment, his pale eyes regarding mine, the light from the lamp dancing in them. “Yes,” he says quietly. “I know how that feels. I know it only too well.”

Suddenly I am reminded of the fact that he is a thousand years old. I let out a small noise that sounds like a grunt. So it seems even an immortal elf isn't spared from some of our human troubles. Even then, why would he want to help me? He must be incredibly bored, or just full of himself, or…

“Which is why,” he adds, as if reading my mind, “my goal now is to see you happy.”

My spoon drops into my bowl. This has to stop.

I refuse to look at him or acknowledge his what he said, quickly trying to finish my meal instead. There is an urgent need to get out of the tavern, away from Carl. I have already trusted this mage too much, by allowing him to drag me along the streets into a tavern, by sharing a table with him. Enough is enough. There is no need to continue my acquaintance with him. 

But when I look up, he is gone.

The bill has been settled. In addition, I find out from the innkeeper that Carl has paid for all the food and my lodging for the night. Damn. I rummage my pockets and exhale with relief. Not a problem paying him back, as I have a surplus of five hundred gold from the war.

After finding out his room number, I climb up the flight of stairs leading to the guest rooms. His is on the third floor, at the end of a long hallway. I rap on his door a couple of times. At first, there is no answer. I knock again and wait outside for several minutes.

Finally, he appears, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. His damp hair has been combed back and some if it spills over his bare shoulders and chest. The radiance of his skin and hair contrasts with the dark maroon bath towel.

Trying not to let my eyes linger, I hand him the money. “Please accept it. I don’t like being indebted.”

“Sure,” he says casually.

My mouth opens to say something but I shut it quickly and march out of the door. As it closes behind me, I let out the breath I’ve unknowingly been holding. I make another trip downstairs to enquire about the location of my own room. It's right below Carl's on the second floor.

My living quarters is comfortable, with a large bed, a private bath and more than enough storage dressers and chests. After washing up, I settle down on the floor and prepare for my meditation, which begins with unraveling and cleaning up the mess inside my head.

Those unwanted thoughts are disturbing my peace yet again.

He really shouldn’t have bought me the Manta. Shouldn’t have stood by me when I was ruptured by the Bloodseeker. Sure, it was all about team work and objectives but he could have kept his hands off me. And he shouldn’t have taken a goddamned bath in the river right in front of me, like the way he greeted me half-naked just now. Shouldn’t have listened to my story over dinner and offered to help me take revenge. 

Most of all, he shouldn’t have said that thing about wanting to see me happy.

I straighten myself and begin pacing back and forth restlessly. Well, I’m not giving him another chance, I decide, clenching my fists in resolve. Tomorrow, before the sun is up, I will leave without a goodbye. We are no longer a team, he is not my friend, and we will go our separate ways from now on. 

The room feels a little stuffy. I walk to the window and push it open, gazing out at the twilight sky with its hues of violet, orange and blue. The sun is sinking steadily below the horizon, and suddenly it occurs to me that the sun, for all its brilliance and grandeur, is but a lonely, solitary star.

Sitting down on the edge of my bed, I try to imagine my days ahead, alone and at peace without that insufferable mage, his distracting antics and his attempts to lead me astray.

I try to look forward to those days, but all I can feel is emptiness. My throat tightens and my eyes cloud over. Burying my face in my hands, I can’t believe how silly I am becoming.

There is a knock on my door, startling me. I freeze for a moment, staring at the door. No, it can’t be. My pulse races as I run to answer it.

Carl is standing there in a silk robe the same shade as his eyes. The thin fabric outlines his slender figure. 

“How are you faring?” he asks softly, brows knitted. 

"Well..." I swallow and struggle to speak. My face must look terrible. Carl steps in and closes the door behind him, and then just patiently stands there, waiting. Lacking the resolve to push him away, I simply stand and wait for something scathing to come out of his mouth. But there isn’t a hint of a sneer or any of his usual annoying gestures.

My eyes meet his for a second, and he nods. His fingers rise to touch my cheek.

The touch ignites something in me. An anxious feeling, a raw anticipation for something I don't consciously understand. The relentless pull it exerts is unsettling, yet natural like the turning of a plant towards sunlight.

What if I closed the gap between us? How would the contour of his body fit against mine? Those pale wispy locks, how would they feel between my fingers? These are questions I have asked many a time, but never would I imagine the day when I'd find out the answers. 

I inch towards him. Without hesitation, his arms receive me, drawing me close. My entire body is now pressed against his, chest to chest, hip to hip.

My heart pounds as I enfold his lean-muscled body in my arms. I can’t believe that the scene that invades my most contemplative moments has become reality. Each steady thud of his heartbeat, the gentle movement of his chest with each breath, now marks the passing of time in a world that merely consists of the two of us. His hair is completely dry now and I grab a fistful of it. It really is as soft as it looks.  

He pulls back a little, his lips searching for mine.

What do I do now? It is my first time; as if propelled by some unknown force I smash my mouth against his, almost savagely. He welcomes it with a tiny noise, something between a sigh and a moan, and closes his eyes. He proceeds to savor me slowly, his tongue exploring the contours of my mouth intently, as if committing every detail to memory.

I let him do whatever he wants. My mind has been taken hostage, my body rigid as his mouth devours mine. Gradually my muscles relax and my hands begin roaming, fingers trailing along the sharp slope of his jaw, thumb caressing his carotid artery. His ears seem delicate and I try to be careful with them. Meanwhile, I can sense the strong currents of mana coursing through his veins. I realize how easy it is to snap his neck with one swift maneuver. If I wanted to, it would happen so quickly that he'd have no time to utter a single invocation.

Eventually I break the kiss, panting a little. He studies me for a few seconds, and for the first time, I notice there are gold flecks in his eyes. And then I feel his hand moving down my back, pressing my bottom against him so tightly that I can feel his budding arousal. It is all I can do not to reach down and cup my hand over it. My own loins are burning, my mind scrambles to salvage whatever dignity I have left.

I push him away, mumbling, “I’m sorry.”

He stands there, brows crossed, but makes no move. I fully expect him to taunt or ridicule me for trying to hang on to my principles. After all, my body’s betrayal is obvious.

“Don’t leave.”

His voice is trembling slightly, which surprises me. What happened to the smug, self-assured Invoker? Hasn’t he seen it all, figured it all out after all those centuries? Isn’t he supposed to be superior in every way to a mortal like me? 

And then the answer hits me. He is afraid, just as afraid as I am.

“I won’t,” I promise him, not really knowing what it means.

He looks happier now. “Come to my room,” he says, taking my arm. “I want to show you something.”

“No… no I can’t,” I resist, stammering. Everything is happening too fast, and there are too many concerns. “I’m not ready. Not tonight.”

Carl laughs. “It’s not what you think. I have an artifact to show you. Something I brought back from the battlefield. It will be of interest to you.”

“Oh,” I mutter in embarrassment, and reluctantly follow him into his room.

He sits on the bed and opens the drawer of his bedside dresser. “Look,” he says, taking out an object made up of three heavy, interlinked iron rings, seemingly broken off from a longer chain. I recognize it. It comes from the chains of Pudge’s meat hook. Why Carl decided to keep this filthy thing is beyond my comprehension.

“I have been collecting artifacts from wars over the years,” he explains. “Parts of enemies’ weapons and armor, scrolls and trinkets that are small enough to bring back. I have an entire museum of them at home.”

His leg brushes against mine, he seems to be expecting me to sit beside him, but I remain standing. I know that once I sit on that bed, there will be no turning back.

“But this one is special," he continues. "The Chains of Abscession is a relic infused with the Dead God’s power and will. The fact that it landed in Pudge’s hands shows something. The Dead God is making you his priority now.”

The news doesn’t shock me. I have long known that the Dead God is aware of my vendetta against him. And Pudge was barely a threat. It is Carl’s interest in the chains that baffles me.

“Thank you,” I say to him.

He tucks the relic back into the drawer. "It is getting late. Have a good night's rest," he says, leaning against the headboard of his bed and smiling at me somewhat wistfully. He doesn’t remind me of the promise I made just now. Something unspoken passes between us and he knows I will honor what I said. 

I mumble something incomprehensible, and then make a hasty retreat to my room. An attempt at meditating proves futile again. Sighing, I turn off the light, getting ready for bed. Too much has happened today for my rational mind to process.

It is unbelievable, how he made himself so vulnerable before me. Perhaps it's a trap laid out by the cunning Arsenal Magus to lure the famed mage-slayer to his doom. No, that's too big a risk for him. Even without my blades, with all that full-body contact, I could have used my internal energy to drain all his mana, and more. Surely he is aware of that. I could definitely have ended his supposedly immortal existence, there and then.

As the night deepens, I am unable to sleep. I toss and turn in bed, recalling the kiss and all its sensations. My body is feverish and aching with need. It is unbearable. I try to give myself release, but can’t finish.

Meditation doesn’t work, nothing works now. I resort to trying to smother myself with my pillow. It takes monumental effort to keep myself from running to his room. The rest of the night is spent cursing at Carl for causing my suffering.

It is a strange kind of suffering, one that I am not accustomed to. Strange and wonderful.

 

 

 


	2. Dark Willow's Mischief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explicit chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lore References:
> 
> \- Cathedral of Rumusque and its association with the Dead God and Necrophos
> 
> \- Mireska Sunbreeze/Dark Willow wanted by the Tyler Estate
> 
> \- Mention of Invoker's escape from academia in Blackguard Magus set

 

I awake with the sun shining on my face. Panic seizes me when I realize I have slept past dawn, something I rarely ever do. It takes me a while to realize I’m not in a war, there won't be any horn calls and I don’t need to clear the jungle of creeps. My groin does feel like it has gone through a workout, though. 

Bolting out of bed, I head for the bathroom to have a wash and a change.  As I sit on the toilet waiting for myself to soften, the events of last night slowly trickle back into my mind. 

Carl.

A slight tingle runs through my veins at the thought of him. What happened last night seems surreal, and I dare not dwell too much on it in case it was all a dream. I don’t even have the courage to go to his room and knock on his door, instead heading downstairs for breakfast.

In the inn’s warm taproom, a few late-risers are still lingering over their breakfasts. The waitress is clearing cups and plates and the landlord is rolling a fresh keg of ale into place behind the bar.

Carl is sitting at the same corner table, smiling at me as I approach. His dressing is relatively subdued compared to what he wears for battle. A long-sleeved tunic of white, gold and violet with oriental patterns. Before him lays an extravagant spread – an assortment of bread, smoked meat, nuts, exotic-looking fruit, tea and wine. My jaw drops at all this.

“Good morning, Anti-Mage,” he greets me jauntily while poking at a sausage on his plate. “Did you sleep well?” There is a teasing edge to his voice.

I swallow and make no reply, taking in the inviting scents in front of me. Again he gestures at me to partake in the feast. I don’t even know where to start.

Picking up a peach, I sink my teeth into it and the tart, juicy flesh refreshes me instantly. He then offers me a slab of something yellow with a white crust and persuades me to sample it. "It's cheese," he says. I nibble at it. It tastes quite amazing - supple on the outside and creamy inside. I have to admit that the tavern's food is much more appetizing compared to the tangos, mangoes and occasional roasted harpy we’d subsisted on at the battlefield.

We mostly eat in silence. Carl makes no move to touch me. He leans back, arms folded, waiting for me to finish my breakfast.

When I am done, he rises to his feet and throws on his cape around his shoulders.

“Let’s get on with our hunt for the Dead God,” he announces.

Eyes widening, I stare at him as he fastens the elaborate clasps on his cape. So it’s all real, at least that part about him joining me in my mission. He makes it sound so easy, though.

“I don’t know where to begin,” I mutter.

“The Cathedral of Rumusque is a good place to start. It’s where the Chains of Abscession were forged.”

As much as I hate to admit it, I am beginning to be impressed by the amount he knows. “Tell me more.”

He nods with a satisfied smile at having aroused my desire to hear more. This man really loves the sound of his own voice, it seems.

”The cathedral had been opposing the Dead God for decades before the plague wiped out virtually everyone in their town,” he continues. “The chains were originally made for that purpose before they became corrupted and landed in Pudge’s hands.”

I mull over this for a moment. It’s somehow uplifting that there once existed an institution dedicated to fighting against the Dead God, though it's no longer around. 

“Rumusque... it's a ghost town now? Not a single survivor?”

“Well, there’s the notorious Necrophos. A most unsavory character,” he scrunches his nose in disgust. “But he is possibly one of the handful to have looked the Dead God in the face and lived.”

“Necrophos," I spit out the familiar name with a slight shudder. "Also known as the Pope of Pestilence. Spreads nasty diseases wherever he goes." In truth, I am not keen to meet such a revolting figure. But there is a possibility he may know something about the Dead God that I don’t.

As we prepare to leave the tavern, we are approached by another courier. This one isn’t human, it’s a pigeon. The bird flies over and lands on our table before me with a scroll in its beak. I retrieve the message and read it.

 _Mireska Sunbreeze has been spotted at the Arcanus Academy. Apprehend her and bring her back, alive and unharmed, to the Tyler Estate._   _\- Signed, Nortrom the Silencer_

Carl looks at me and quirks a brow. “Well?”

“There’s an assignment for me. From the Tyler Estate,” I explain, reluctant to let him know too much about my work.

“It’s not about me, is it?” Carl chuckles as we walk out through the tavern’s door. He is well aware that he is top on the Tyler Estate’s list of mages to watch out for. But Mireska is different – she’s on the  _wanted_  list, meaning she has done something to warrant our action.

“No. It’s Mireska Sunbreeze,” I blurt out, disregarding the rule to keep our assignments secret as I feel obliged to reassure Carl that I am not going to betray him. She’s a teenage troublemaker, a repeat offender. She’s been moving from school to school, causing havoc at each one.”

He takes it all in with an uninterested yawn. “So where is the girl now?”

“The Arcanus Academy.”

Carl’s footsteps stop abruptly.

I look at him. “What’s the matter?”

“Ah.” He stares ahead pensively, as if remembering something. “That was where I first studied the arcane arts, when I was young. It was named differently back then. The school has been demolished and rebuilt several times over the centuries.”

“I honestly can’t imagine you being in school.”

“Ha. I escaped.”

"Oh?" This surprises me - so I’m not the only one who ran away from school. “What happened?”

“The system was too rigid,” he explains. “The professors insisted that we learned to manipulate the elements separately, and to combine them only after eight years of training. They had never seen someone like me who could fuse the elements with ease at such a young age.”

I say nothing. One of the monks at Turstarkuri used to remark that the more masterful one is with the dark arts, the more heavily one has borrowed against one’s soul.

We stroll along the streets, bathed in sunlight, rather out of place amidst the humdrum town life. The weather is kind, and more quaint things catch my notice. Buskers, painters, jugglers. To be able to relax and enjoy this every day would be considered bliss to the common folk, but not for me. 

Carl's hand brushes mine but he makes no move to touch me the way he used to. Heck, why is this even on my mind? Enough of this senselessness, I chide myself sternly. Every now and then a passer-by would toss a glance at us – or rather, at him. And every time this happens, a twinge of irritation ticks through me, although it’s completely irrational.

But one good thing about being in public view, is that it forces me to keep my distance from him. Just being seen walking alongside him is bad enough for my reputation.

Soon we arrive at the town hall, entering the teleportation chamber. The portals to various faraway lands and worlds are arranged in a large circle. We survey the glowing blue inscriptions on each one till we find the one we want.

  
“After you,” he says, gesturing for me to step on the circle, where a shimmering disc of light beckons us.

When we arrive at the outskirts of the Arcanus Academy, it is night time. This means we have traveled half the world by way of teleportation.

The air here is slightly chilly, and after half an hour of walking, we reach the school grounds. Carl remembers the way although it has been eons since he last visited the place. It is deserted at this time, with minimal, dim lighting and the moon itself faintly illuminating the brick building looming ahead. The main gates are locked, and from this point onward our powers come into use.

The darkness makes the surroundings seem slightly menacing, but I remind myself that this is a school, not the Dire jungle. Granted, it’s a school of  _magic_ , which means that there are potentially more dangers lurking here compared to an ordinary institution.

There is a meadow we have to cross to reach the main building. Carl has been quiet and I wonder if the place is making him nostalgic. 

"Watch out for traps," I nudge him before we make our way past the thick grass. The Dark Willow is known to lay bramble traps throughout the school grounds, which cause great pain and inconvenience when stepped on. She’s apparently also been wreaking mayhem with some strange kind of magic that forces the students and teachers to behave erratically and engage in indecent acts. A warped sense of humor, I must say, but not surprising for a mage.

"Not a problem," Carl declares. "Exort, Quas, Exort." With a flourish of his hands, ice crystals materialize in thin air before us, coalescing into two distinctly humanoid shapes. He takes a longer time than usual to create his elemental servants, seemingly relishing the process of adding details to the limbs and even facial features of the ice sculptures. Finally he coats the pair with fire, bring them to blazing life.

I recoil at the tongues of flames crackling from their lanky limbs. Magical fire has an impure smell, unlike natural fire. Carl sends the spirits ahead of us, illuminating the way and burning any traps that they find. 

We reach the main building. Inside the main hall, the forged spirits continue providing us light while I decide where to proceed for the investigation. Suddenly I notice a movement, a flash of maroon and pink near the staircase.

Mireska.

I rush towards the staircase but she disappears, slipping into the shadow realm. Her trail is visible to me, so I pursue it. It leads me to the second floor, along the hallway to a room with its doors wide open.

Cautiously, I step in and realize it’s a library. Carl joins me a few moments later. He isn’t the least interested in helping me arrest Mireska, whom he regards as an infant in the world of magic. Instead he saunters towards the bookshelves and amuses himself with one of the books.

The library is huge. I weave through the maze of shelves, venturing deeper in and finally a pink light leads me to Mireska at the other end. Hovering near her shoulder is a winged creature the size of a dragonfly. I'm not sure what kind of insect or animal it is, but its round, wisplike body is the one emitting the pink glow. The girl’s large doe eyes gleam with mischief.

“Cease your nonsense!” I warn her. “Come back with me to the Tyler Estate now.”

“Never! You can’t catch me; no one can. I’m wanted in six nations,” she snickers boastfully and begins to recite something in an ancient-sounding language, lifting her wand.

I instantly activate Counterspell and a bright violet energy shield springs up around me. Mireska gasps but it is too late. Her spell backfires and she is stunned. I close the distance and grab her arm. This would have been much easier if I had my moon blades, but the Tyler Estate forbids me from slicing her up as she is still underage by their definition.

She struggles as I sap her mana with my vise-like grip. “Jex!” she yells petulantly. “Ready to have some fun?”

Suddenly I feel a sharp sting on my neck. I jerk my head up to see the pink flying wisp right above me.

“Give it to him, Jex!” the Dark Willow commands in her shrill voice. “Give him our latest concoction!”

The nasty thing latches itself to my neck and doesn’t let go. Before I can grab it, it stings me again, penetrating deeper this time. I inadvertently loosen my grip on its mistress, and only then does it release me.

“What is this?” I rub my neck, frowning. The area is slightly numb. The assault feels little more than an insect bite, although it may feel differently to someone with weaker magic resistance.

Mireska giggles wildly. “Carnal Bedlam! You’re gonna love this!”

I really don’t like the sound of its name. But when I blink towards her, she vanishes again. I'm plunged into darkness without the glow of her pet wisp, and have to feel my way around. Soon I find myself face-to-face with the back door of the library. Pulling the handle, I realize it has been locked from the outside, evidently with strong magic. But this isn't the main problem here.

A strange feeling is coming over me.

It’s sprung up out of nowhere and makes me uncomfortable in a way I cannot describe. I can only attribute it to the poison of the wisp’s sting. I try to meditate, but am unable to purge this affliction from my body. I stare at the door, perturbed. Right now I'm less interested in pursuing Mireska than in figuring out what exactly is happening to me.

My insides are burning. Not in a painful way, but I realize it's the same way I burned last night while tossing and turning in bed thinking of Carl.

Carnal Bedlam, that’s what she called the poison. Now I understand what the Silencer meant when he talked about Mireska’s magic forcing the school’s students and teachers to engage in indecent acts.

A curse escapes from my lips as red-hot blood floods through my body. Breathe in, breathe out. Just a minor annoyance, I tell myself, rolling my eyes. Such a trifling spell isn’t going to turn me into a rampaging rapist. It's mostly mitigated by my magic resistance, anyway.

But with each passing second it gets worse. My skin has become feverishly hot, my heart is hammering against my ribcage and my palms are sweating. The desire surging within me spreads out to my fingers, toes, hairs on my head, teeth, tongue and lips. Consuming me. The biggest problem is the raging beast inside my pants. Rational mind crumbling, I undo my pants desperately and try to placate the beast there and then. But it doesn’t work. Finally I forced to admit it – this is not about magic anymore. It’s my own pent-up desire, which has merely been stoked by Mireska’s poison.

And the only antidote comes in the form of the smug elf sitting at the front of the library.

I pull up my pants and try to walk out in a dignified manner, but I end up making a dash towards Carl. He is still lounged in the armchair, leafing through a thick volume. His hair and face flickers with the light from his fire spirits. Just the sight of this makes my desire surge.

He peers up from his book. “You didn’t get her?”

The embarrassment of my failure to apprehend Mireska is nothing compared to what I am about to approach him for.

“Carl…” I plant myself rigidly in front of him. My pulse is pounding through my ears and temples and I feel slightly dizzy.

“What’s the matter?” he puts down the book and rises from the armchair.

I can’t tell him that I’m being tormented with a jinx cast by an amateur, teenage sorceress. Heck, I can’t even articulate how I’m feeling and what I want. So I simply reach for the clasps on his cloak and try to undo them, one by one. The fastenings are made of silver, carved ornately and inlaid with gems. Damn it, why are there so many of these things? This is the only time I wish I had a magic wand to wave away all these garments.

Carl isn’t helping me at all. He simply stands there grinning in surprise and amusement as his cloak falls to the ground and I proceed to fumble with the buttons on his tunic, which are also very intricate.

“Skipping the kissing?” he remarks, lifting a hand to caress my cheek.

“I just want them off,” I mutter, my voice coming out more desperate than I like it to and my fingers trembling. “Please help me out a bit.”

“It’s fine. I like it slow,” he chuckles softly. He leans over, his lips catching mine.

I’m not fine with taking it slow, I almost blurt out. My lust, or rather, the effects of that dastardly spell has reached its peak and it is absolutely agonizing.

With a grunt of frustration, I give up on the robes and dart a furtive glance at his fiery servant floating to our left. The elemental seems to be staring at us, although it has no eyes. I don’t care. My hands drop south, directly attacking his pants. Silly me, I should have done this earlier. I unbuckle his belt and the pants come undone easily.

“My, what’s come after you - oh,” he says in a breathy voice, his question cut off with a gasp when my fingers brush against his very hard bulge, and this alone sends another current of desire buzzing through me. I try to free him from the confines of his underpants. And now he helps me.

His manhood is impressive in both girth and length, more so in length. Now I know why he is so arrogant. I curl my fingers around the warm, throbbing organ and give it a squeeze. His breath hitches and he clutches my arm. 

“Sit down,” I order softly, pushing him gently down on the spacious armchair.

He is happy to comply, making himself comfortable. “Looks like a treat awaits me. Ah, isn’t this just the perfect way to end a long day, in a dark library. With you.”

A coherent response is, at the moment, beyond my ability. I hurriedly slip out of my own pants and feel better, less constrained. And then I get down on one knee. A quick glance up at Carl’s face shows him watching me intently without a sound.

I grab his turgid member, knowing without a doubt that this hunk of meat needs to go into my mouth. But first I whip out my tongue, tasting and caressing its smooth tip and massaging the ridges and bulging veins. This draws a hiss from him, his fingers on my shoulders tightening. I slide the organ into my mouth. All this is rather overwhelming, being my first time, but my mind is now lost to the indescribable, unstoppable force that started this in the first place.

With half of his shaft in my mouth and the rest in my hand, I think for a moment what I need to do next. Slowly, but gaining confidence with every second, I fall into a rhythm of sucking, moving my mouth up and down and snaking my tongue around the head. I experiment with various areas and amounts of pressure, taking the cue from the various tiny noises he makes and the bucking of his hips. Every reaction from him pushes me nearer to the edge.

I pause for a breather and to observe Carl’s expression. What a sight. His eyes are closed, head tilted back against the armchair and lips slightly parted. His lustrous hair flows down his shoulders and chest like a waterfall and he looks absolutely divine.

"Feels good?" I ask.

"Hmm. Yes, keep going," he breathes, a hand reaching out to stroke my face. I go back down and engulf his manhood again. This time I try to push further down his length, but it makes me want to gag and I stop. Regrouping myself with a few breaths, I make another attempt at shoving it all the way in. As the head bumps against my throat, I hear a very audible groan from Carl. A small but satisfying reward.

I withdraw again for another break, my hands running over his slender and taut thighs. I finally manage to open his tunic, brushing my lips against the smooth skin of his rising and falling chest. 

He rises from the couch, arms pulling me close and lips catching mine. Cool at first, those thin but supple lips warm up quickly as they wrap around mine. His hands move down to undo my vest, stroking my chest, toying with my nipples, pinching and pulling rather hard. I’m surprised by the jolts of pleasure this gives me. His hands travel down further and pause on my waist, going round to cup my bottom. I can feel one finger dipping into the crack.

All of a sudden I tense up and grab his hand, stopping him. 

“Don't - I can't. Not now.”

His ivory eyes are unreadable but he nods, seeming to understand my reservations. He leans close and whispers to my ear. "I'll make you beg for it, next time." 

Before I can express my indignation, his hand is around my engorged and leaking member, teasing it with deft fingers. Unable to contain it anymore, I erupt. All that yearning and pent-up frustration splatters to the floor.

“Oh shit,” I mutter almost apologetically. I really didn’t expect this to happen.

“You have been holding back for too long,” he says half-chidingly, his hand now leisurely stroking himself. The appendage is now slightly deflated.

"Don't tell me what to do with my life," I retort, moving his hand away and resuming my oral ministrations. But this time I decide to start by exploring the surrounding areas of his groin and upper thigh, and after going one round, I take his silky smooth scrotum into my mouth.

He squirms. “Magina…” he says softly, almost pleadingly. 

This is the first time hearing him call the name I rarely use for myself. Strangely, although the curse has most certainly been dispelled with my climax, I find myself growing hard again. As I thought - the entire thing has very little to do with Mireska’s spell.

I know he wants his manhood inside my mouth again. The third time I devour him, I work up a steady rhythm. This makes him sit up, his breathing turning irregular. I up my speed, going back and forth with an intensity that elicits a long, low moan from him. His face is contorted as if he is in pain. Yes, the end is near.

It is said that when one climaxes, one experiences a 'small death'. At this moment, my mind is focused on nothing but this goal. Killing him.

“I think I’m…” his voice is strangled, his fingers clutching my head tight.

Encouraged that I’m going the right direction, I keep up the pressure and speed, and finally, he tenses up. He grabs my head and pushes it against his crotch while he convulses again and again, expelling into my mouth. Shocked by the force of his release, I swallow in reflex, falling into a sort of dazed state as the slightly salty, mostly bland-tasting liquid runs down my throat. After that I hold him in my mouth until he turns limp.

At the same time, the fire elementals fizzle out. We are now engulfed in total darkness, and there is no sound except that of our heavy breathing. I sink down on the floor against the armchair, leaning against Carl’s leg.

“It was most pleasurable, my dear Anti-Mage,” he sighs, languidly caressing the back of my neck.

“Don’t call me that,” I grumble.

The last thing I want now is to be reminded of how spectacularly I've failed in my job today. 

 

 


	3. Cathedral of Rumusque

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lore References:
> 
> Lady Onshu, the Cathedral of Rumusque

 

When we leave the library, it is still dark, to my relief. Carl’s left one of the fire elementals behind to clean up the…mess we made. Outside the academy’s building, the cool, moonlight-tinged wind pricks my senses and I shudder when I recall the sordid details of what I’ve just done. Unbelievable and appalling. Mireska’s not only slipped from my grasp, but has also managed to make a mockery out of me. I can only pray that the botched mission never reaches the ears of the Silencer.

While Carl bides his time, soaking in the surroundings and probably reminiscing his past as a young student, I scoot across the field towards the main gates as if I were the criminal. But my boots have barely struck a few steps across the grass when something grabs my ankles, making me nearly trip over. I glance down to find myself entangled in a patch of thorny brambles.  

It’s that brat Mireska again.

My tough boots protect my skin against the thorns, but those spiky roots continue snaking up my leg, digging into the flesh on my knees.

“Argh!”  I quickly blink out of these pesky plant-traps and do a cursory check on my legs. Apart from a few superficial scratches, which will heal quickly, there’s no harm done.  

I look down again to find that the brambles that caught me are disappearing, sinking back into the earth. There may be more, hidden beneath the thick grass.

Behind me, the fire spirits are busy triggering the traps for Carl, destroying the tendrils coiling around them. The trail of burnt shrubbery gradually reveals a maze pattern, which Carl navigates with ease. 

“Why the hurry, my dear Anti-Mage?” he smirks as he catches up with me, draping an arm around my shoulder. The breeze blows a few strands of his hair into my face. “The night is still young. I have yet to return you the delightful favour you’ve just performed on me.”

“Don’t – remind me of that,” I brush him off brusquely, but I can’t prevent the tell-tale warmth from creeping into my face.

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist me,” he continues teasing me in his silky baritone voice, the one that gets my loins stirring every time. Gods, why can’t he stop talking? I wish for goodness the Silencer was here to shut him up.

“It wasn’t you. It was the Dark Willow,” I retort, and then immediately regret what I’ve said. Confessing that I’ve succumbed to the paltry tricks of a teenager clearly demonstrates my ineptness as a mage-slayer.

Actually, it was both of them who’d messed me up. Two blasted mages. Distracted me from my goals, steered me off track from the True Path and made me look like a total idiot.

I hate mages. And magic.

Especially mages!

And I’ll be damned if I don’t do something about this. 

I stop in my footsteps and turn a steady gaze on him. “If you think I’m so weak as to be ruled by mere sensations of the body, you are so wrong.” My voice comes out a little lackluster compared to his - I’m just not a talker.

He says nothing, but now he keeps his distance from me. After crossing the meadow, we slip out through the school gates, Carl’s incorporeal form passing through the wrought-iron bars like a winter breeze.

Ignoring his tingling cool presence alongside me, I march ahead through the forested path leading to the portal that will bring us back to Radinthul. Dawn is approaching, bringing slivers of light peeking through the trees and the stillness surrounding us is broken by birdsong.

Brows locked, I try to sort out my thoughts on how I could possibly get back on track. I’ve fallen behind in my meditation and training and I have given in to my basic impulses more than once. Not good. If I can’t redeem myself from my transgressions, the least I can do is to keep from spiraling further down.

Drawing a deep breath, I try to sound as firm as possible. “We should part ways, Carl.”

“Part ways?” he rematerializes beside me, sounding genuinely surprised, without a hint of disappointment.

“Yes. I need a break from you,” I reiterate, keeping my eyes focused ahead.

He mulls for a few moments, and then responds in a level voice. “Not a wise decision, I must say. To fumble in the dark without your beacon of knowledge to guide you.”

A huff escapes my lips accompanied by an eye-roll. Looks like the Invoker’s back to his pompous, condescending self. Good, stay that way.

Arms folded, I toss him my most impassive glare. “I don't need your help. And it doesn’t matter how much knowledge you have in your head when a blade up close can separate it from the rest of your body faster than you can say 'exort' or whatever. Surely you are aware of that, and should be wary of traveling with me.”

“Of course, I’m aware of that,” he responds amiably, still unruffled by my scathing words. “But I know who I can trust.”

So he thinks he can read me like an open book. “What is your motive for helping me, anyway?” I ask bitingly. “Am I perhaps another trophy to add to your collection of mage-slayers you’ve outwitted or seduced?”

Something unidentifiable crosses his moon-like eyes and he lets out an audible sigh. “Very well, if that’s what you think.”

There’s something in that sigh that makes me almost regret my outburst. The rest of the journey is spent in silence; not a word from him, not a single antic.

When we arrive back at Radinthul, another half day has passed. It’s night time, but the massive hall of portals is just as crowded as ever with travellers.

Drowsiness tugs at my eyelids and I realize I haven’t slept for quite some time. I want to find a place to rest, but I don’t want to do it near Carl and this time I definitely don’t want to find myself in another situation where I might lose control again.

He turns to me. “If you’re heading for the town of Rumusque, it might interest you that there is one other survivor of the plague besides Necrophos.”

My ears can’t shut out the information, and he knows he’s got my attention.

“She’s a cleric named Lady Onshu,” he smiles briefly when my gaze meets his.

“Lady… Onshu?” I stare at him dumbly for a moment, and the question tumbles out of my mouth, totally unplanned. “Where are you going then?” 

“To the tailor to have a new outfit made, and then to the Heroes’ Banquet,” he says airily, raising a hand to sweep his hair behind his shoulders. “I’ll be there if you need me.”

“I won’t.”

 

 

I emerge from the portal to find myself on top of a grassy hill. Far ahead, foggy mountains roll out in the distance. Judging by the sun’s position, it is around noon time. This place isn’t that far from where I came from.

Glancing down, I discover the town of Rumusque nestled in a valley between two hills with a river running along it, surrounded by patches of wasteland. I can see neighborhoods of houses, shops, clusters of intact and half-crumbling structures. But at the other end, on slightly elevated ground, the cathedral stands tall and prominent.

The temperature here is way above what I am used to, and it is also humid. Sweat trickles down the sides of my face and I feel as if I am breathing in steam. I shrug off this minor discomfort, having been through the harsh cold of the Turstarkuri mountains and the desert climate of the Highsands.

A narrow, bumpy, dirt road leads me to the entrance of the town. Indeed, it looks like no one has lived here for at least the last few decades. Dust-covered shop fronts with rusted roofs, dark windows look out like eye sockets, doors crawling with vines, faded posters on the walls and overgrown weeds poking through the cobblestones under my boots. As I stroll along the empty street, I try to imagine this as a prosperous, bustling place before the plague wiped out its population.

Soon, I find myself in a large square with a sign post in the middle pointing to various directions. Not a single soul can be seen. There is a chance I will be making a wasted trip here, but if Carl is right, I will find Lady Onshu.  I head towards the cathedral, walking past more derelict buildings, and up a gradually sloping path.

A look to my left makes me stop my footsteps. A vast cemetery spreads out before me, the final resting place of thousands of families, townsfolk, farmers and soldiers maybe. Rows and rows of graves and crosses crowd among gangly trees, and like everything else the graveyard is in a state of neglect, with cracked and broken headstones peeking above overgrown shrubs. I close my eyes for a moment, the stillness and desolation weighing down heavily on my heart. I wonder if Turstarkuri looks like this now.

No. Unlike the people of Rumusque, my poor brothers were never put to rest.   

They will never rest until I have avenged them.

Trudging on uphill, I arrive at the gated entrance to the cathedral only to be stopped by two armored guards holding sheathed swords. One of them shoots me a forbidding stare.

“Are you here for healing?” he assesses me, voice dripping with contempt.

“Healing? No. I’m here to talk to Lady Onshu.”

Shifting a hand to the hilt of his sword, he narrows his eyes, regarding me suspiciously. “Who are you? Where are you from?”

“I work for the Tyler Estate, an organization that hunts down rogue magic users.”

“Is that so?” he still looks unconvinced.

I growl under my breath impatiently, my fuse shortened by the lack of sleep. The blades of Yoskreth materialize in my hands, gleaming menacingly as I strike my most formidable pose.

The guard raises his thick brows and steps back in alarm.

“Look, I don’t intend to hurt anyone,” I articulate my words slowly and calmly in order not to escalate the situation. “I am with you in your fight against the Dead God.”

He considers me for a while more and exchanges looks with the other guard, who nods. And then they proceed to open the gates for me. My weapons disappear and I exhale in relief at not having to resort to violence.

The cathedral looks grand, with tall spires, flying buttresses and ornate carvings along the walls. Though old, it is still maintained decently compared to the rest of the town. The grass around it has been neatly trimmed, and various types of flowers add splashes of color to the otherwise dreary landscape.

After making our way across a bridge, the guard tells me to wait outside the cathedral while he goes in to announce my arrival. Several minutes later, a figure in white robes emerges through the doors, walking down the stone steps towards me.

The cleric is above average in height and slim, with gray-white braided hair hanging down her back. A lace fabric mask covers her mouth and nose, and the only features visible are her amber eyes. They look tired but there is a glint of defiance in them. Her ears are elven-like.

“Good afternoon, Lady Onshu.” Having no clue about formalities and niceties, I greet her in a manner I consider respectful, and introduce myself simply. “I am Magina, the Anti-Mage.”

Her brows arch slightly. “Ah, Anti-Mage,” she says. “The lone survivor of the Turstarkuri massacre. I have been hoping to meet you.” Her voice is at once soothing and authoritative.

I nod eagerly. “I have heard about your crusade against the Dead God and would like to offer my assistance in any way I can.”

“Come in,” she says, turning around.

I follow her into the church. The interior is dimly lit but imposing, with high ceilings and intricate stained-glass windows. She leads the way up the stairs into the refectory and offers me some tea.

“Would you like milk with your tea?” she asks.

“No, thank you.”

“Sugar?”

“Plain tea is fine.”

She trots into the kitchen and comes back holding a tray with two cups.

We sit at one end of the long tables and start talking. She removes her mask revealing elegant cheekbones and a determined chin. The peace and quiet makes me feel like I’m in a sanctuary amidst the chaotic world.

“This used to be a thriving town, with the river and fertile plots of farmland providing us all the resources we needed.” Her face looks stoic, but tinged with longing for what once was. 

It suddenly strikes me how vulnerable this place is. It’s just a cathedral, not a citadel or fortress, and these people are as good as sitting ducks should the evil forces decide to invade.

“But you are not afraid,” I remark. “You continue to stay here to defend this cathedral, even though the Dead God might come for you any time.”

“He is no god,” she hisses bitterly. “He is a fiend, a demon of the worst kind. I can’t let this last bastion fall into their foul hands. There is only a handful of us here, but we will protect the cathedral till our last breath. Thank the Almighty that so far that we have not been harassed.”

“It seems the Dead God himself hardly appears in his battles, only sending his servants to do the work.”

She looks at me intently. “Have  _you_  actually seen the Dead God?”

“Well,” I dip my head pensively. “I honestly can’t remember if I have. I was so young when I witnessed the monks being murdered. I didn’t know who or what had sent the skeleton army and other horrors up the mountains after us. After I managed to escape, I fell into a haze for days, and it was only while recovering in a nearby village that I found out it was the Dead God’s doing.”

I want to add that sometimes, the entity appears in my dreams wielding a wand, but I don’t know if I can trust these memories.

“It’s difficult going up against a being we know so little about,” she takes a sip of tea. “All we can do now if to focus on his minions.”

“Is Pudge one of them?” I proceed to tell her about the recent war, about how we defeated the Butcher and retrieved the Chains of Abscession.

She shakes her head. “Pudge obtained the corrupted artifact by accident; it was never intended for him. Ever since the failure of those chains, I have buried myself in the holy scriptures and Priestess Crella’s writings, hoping to forge a weapon that is powerful enough yet incorruptible, but without success so far. Besides, there are other urgent matters that require my attention.”

“What matters?”

She lets out a vexed sigh. “Necrophos.”

The mention of the name makes my skin crawl a little. “Is he causing trouble nearby? Spreading diseases?”

“Yes, and in the most insidious way. Through a brothel he runs.”

“A… brothel?” I gulp when I think of the kind of diseases involved.

“He spreads them through some of the prostitutes, who themselves show no signs of the affliction. The victims can’t be cured anywhere else but here. More and more have been showing up at my doorstep, many are wealthy or nobility.”

“What is this disease like?”

“Would you like to come to the infirmary to take a look at my patients?”

The idea makes me balk. “No, it’s fine,” I decline. “I’m no healer. I’m just a mage-slayer.”

“It isn’t spread through ordinary contact, you know.”

“Yes. Only through intimate acts, I suppose.”

She nods with a wry smile. “You see, Necrophos used to be a priest here. He’s been celibate all his life, and the disease that ravaged his body during his time in the plague ward made him less manly than he should be. It also drove him insane. And now he exacts revenge on the virile men who visit his brothel.”

“How twisted,” I frown. “Is the contagion magical in nature?”

“Yes, it is entirely spawned from Rotund’jere’s sorceries.”

“Where is this brothel?” I enquire curiously.

“In Radinthul. It is underground, behind the Duke’s palace.”

As we talk, I find myself nodding off, and Lady Onshu leaves me to catch some shut-eye on the bench of the refectory. My sleep is punctuated by strange dreams made up of bits of recent and past experiences. The string of dreams ends unpleasantly, with Carl being dragged away by Pudge’s chains and me watching on helplessly.

I awake, breathing heavily and disoriented. I have no idea how long I have slept for – perhaps hours, but I know I must make my way back to Radinthul.

 

Duke’s palace is just a short walk from the town hall of Radinthul, and I recognize the building immediately when I see it. I used to pass by the five-storied mansion made of red stone without knowing its name. It’s strange to have a seedy establishment operating right behind it. But then I recall what Lady Onshu said about the wealthy and nobility visiting the brothel.    

I stroll along the perimeter of the palace grounds, but I can’t seem to find the entrance to the underground brothel. Skirting around the high walls until I’m back to the palace gates, I decide to approach one of the guards there. Just as I’m wondering how to phrase my question, he surveys me and asks gruffly,

“Name?”

“Magina, the Anti-Mage.”

He turns to a list he holds in his hand and checks my answer against it. And then he nods in approval and opens the gates.

I stand rooted in amazement. “Is someone here expecting me?”

“You’re here for the Heroes Banquet, aren’t you?”

My head tips back in realization. So this is the place for the banquet that Carl was talking about.

“Well… yes.”

The guard’s eyes flick over me in an unimpressed manner; it must be because I am not the most appropriately dressed for the event. I look down at my grimy vest and pants, boots caked with dirt from all that walking. I can’t be bothered to change into new clothes, as I never intended to attend this anyway.

Though unimpressed, the guards don’t stop me when I step past the gates.

I stroll down a wide path lined with fountains, statues and neatly trimmed topiary trees. When I step into the foyer of the building, I feel even more out of place. The entrance is grand and lavish, with domed ceilings, red carpets and a double staircase made of marble and gold. I find the sign that tells me where the banquet is, and proceed up the stairs to the second floor.

I push open the heavy double doors and step into a stately dining hall with large, crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The banquet is in full swing, but the faces are unfamiliar to me. Most are humans, but there are also elves, drow, keen folk and some identifiable races. An elegantly-dressed male with wings on his back stumbles past me, clearly inebriated.  At one corner, a blue-skinned, bearded man in an oriental hat is sharing tales of his feats in the wars.

"...that expression on the Troll Warlord's face when I stole the Aegis of the Immortal right under his nose!"

Laughter erupts among the rapt audience comprised mostly of well-attired ladies and gentlemen. I'm guessing these are the wealthy and titled who are there to mingle with the heroes or to hire them for their services.  

It is fairly easy to spot Carl, standing by a column in the middle. He is dressed even flashier than usual, wearing a high-collar cape with fuchsia-pink lining and jeweled clasps. I weave past the crowd towards him and when I get closer I notice a lady on his arm, her head resting on his shoulder and orange hair falling over and obscuring her face.  

He notices me and smiles, twirling a wine goblet between his fingers. There is a tinge on his cheeks of the same shade as the lining of his cape.

“You’re drunk,” I give him a hard stare. The girl on his arm looks up at me and giggles. It is Lina.

He laughs. “Not in the least bit. I can hold my liquor much better than anyone else here; all it gives me is a tingle in my fingers and toes.” 

It’s impossible to ignore the redhead hanging on his arm, no matter how hard I try. “So just because you can stay sober, means you can have your way with ladies who can’t? What a prick,” I challenge him.  

His eyes widen and his head tilts back in surprise. “A prick? Simply going by what you see here?" He shakes his head and takes a sip of wine.

“What are you talking about, Anti-Mage?” Lina huffs indignantly and lets go of the Invoker’s arm. Her face is flushed but it seems she isn’t that drunk after all. She can hold herself up perfectly. “I’m going to get some dessert,” she announces, walking off.

The sight of her leaving brings a satisfied smirk in my face which I try to hide. 

Carl thrusts a finger into my chest. “So, what are you doing here?”

“You should know,” I say curtly.

“Should I?”

“You told me about Lady Onshu and the cathedral. Surely you know what I’m here for. After all, there isn’t anything you don’t know, is there?”

Clearly pleased with my compliment, he steps closer to me and his voice changes to a lower, silken quality. “Well, you were the one who said you wanted a break from me. Surely you aren’t here to seek my help?”

“I’m here to investigate Necrophos’ brothel, actually. It just so happens to be nearby.”

He chuckles softly under his breath. “Ah, the brothel. Not wise for an acolyte like you to be venturing in there on your own.”

“So you’ve had experience with such places?”

He must have noticed my tense expression, as his tone changes to a more assuring one. “No, no, I haven’t been to one… for the longest time,” he throws in that last bit as an afterthought, his bright pearlescent eyes watching amusedly for my reaction.

 

 

 


	4. Heartstopping Nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> None of the people working inside the brothel are Dota heroes  
> 

My hunt for Necrophos brings me to a disused wing of Duke’s Palace and through an underground corridor, leading to the house of ill repute he is said to own. The sign outside says Heartstopping Nights. For some reason, I feel more jittery about going into this place than when I’m entering Roshan’s lair alone.

There is one more thing niggling at me at the back of my mind. It’s the fact that Carl knows the way to this place so well. I turn around to interrogate him about this, but he’s disappeared.

Reluctant to enter, I stand and peer through the tall windows. This discreet playground for the upper-class looks as decadent as the banquet hall I came from. Dark-red and gold furnishings, velvet couches, silk curtains and ceiling drapes with an intricate chandelier. The bar area is rather empty except for two men lounged on the couches. I’m glad I don’t recognize them. Behind the reception counter is a woman in dark purplish-blue hair dressed in tight black leather.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Carl’s voice makes me spin around. In the few minutes’ that he’s gone, he’s had a complete change in attire. The gaudy pink hues have been replaced by a high-collared black cloak with gold fittings that give him a stately, intimidating air. His hair is immaculately tied back.

“How did you-” I frown at him. He takes two steps towards me and leans in, his nose almost touching mine. And then he softly spits out the five-letter foul word. “Magic.”

I recoil back. “Seems you’re really familiar with this place,” I remark offhandedly. “Have you perhaps been here recently?”

“Nothing under the sun is new to me,” he explains with deliberate patience. “And that includes bordellos. Though I can’t seem to remember when was the last time I visited one.” I glance at him to see if he’s serious, and he adds with a glint in his pale eyes. “Does this bother you?”

“I care not about what others do with their lives.”

He can probably tell that I’m lying through my teeth.

“You seem uncomfortable, Magina,” he observes. “I assume this is your first time visiting a bordello.”

“Well, yes.”

“Ah. Pure and chaste as a lily.”

I glower at him. “The body is a temple. One should not defile it by wanton pleasure-seeking.”

His annoying dimpled smirk tugs at his lips, but he suppresses it and changes the subject. “That isn’t the reason why you're here today.”

Ah yes. I remember what I’m here for. “You already know of Necrophos and his vile plan.” I shudder a little thinking of the diseases that could be residing in this whore house.

“Yes, but considering your distrust of me, you wouldn’t have believed me if I told you. And thus, I pointed you towards Lady Onshu.”

The name brings me back to my conversation with the priestess at the Cathedral of Rumusque. I remember how resigned she seemed, having the power to heal the victims but not to stop the Pope of Pestilence himself.

I don’t have a concrete plan either, but having relied so much on Carl, I don’t intend to ask him for further advice. After all, I’m the one conducting the investigation, not him. In fact, I would have found my way here with or without him.

“Thank you for your help,” I tell him civilly. “I will proceed on my own from now on.”

“Help?” he raises his brows. “Whoever said I was here to help you.”

“Then what are you here for?”

“Can’t a hero ease his boredom in between wars? Move aside, acolyte,” he steps in front of me and reaches for the doorbell.

The blood rushes to my temples. Recovering from my minute shock, I grab his wrist. “Let me remind you that Necrophos’ diseases aren’t of the garden variety. They are magical, and I’m the only one here with magic resistance. I can’t save you if you catch anything nasty.”

“My, my, jumping to conclusions, are we?” he shakes his head in amusement. “Calm down, Anti-mage. Nobody’s catching anything nasty tonight.”

He rings the bell, and seconds later, the door opens. Carl strides in, immediately drawing the attention and admiration of the people inside, especially the woman in black leather behind the counter.

“Good evening, Sir. What can I do for you?” The woman sashays over to Carl and starts to fawn over him. Her face is so heavily made up that she resembles an embalmed corpse.

I like the fact that she doesn’t even notice me.

Carl remains haughtily inexpressive. “Good evening, Madam. My friend and I have just arrived in town and are looking to have a memorable night.”

It’s amazing how he says it all with a straight face. I quickly shift my attention to the surroundings. The sounds of stringed music drift over from one corner of the parlor, where two blue-haired women are playing the harp and the violin. The other side looks rather interesting. A number of humanoid models are lined up against the red curtained wall, some distinctly male or female, a few of unclear gender. A buxom woman with a snake-like lower body is curled up on the sofa around the patron she’s chatting with. Next to her stands a tall, muscular male with fur peeking out of his tunic. And then there is the roly-poly dwarf in a glittery two-piece suit. It takes me a while to realize who they are. Prostitutes, of various shapes and sizes catering to different tastes, all waiting to be hired for a few hours of pleasure.

They’re almost like those… heroes parading around the town hall, waiting to be picked for battle.

I try my hardest not to have eye contact with any of the models.

“We’d be delighted,” the madam replies to Carl in her throaty voice. I wonder if she peddles her own flesh, but her role seems to be strictly that of a manager. She gestures at one of the plush red couches. “Do have a seat, have some drinks.”

Carl nods and settles himself comfortably on the long sofa while a waiter comes over to take his order. I sit stiffly next to him, wondering why we’re not getting down to business straight away. Is this some kind of custom for brothel goers to observe? I search around for the boss, but he is nowhere in sight.

Sensing someone’s eyes on me, I look up and find the snake-like woman on the opposite sofa stealing glances at me, checking me out while pretending to be interested in her client. My skin prickles and I quickly look down.

For the next several minutes or so, Carl just sits and appreciates the musicians with a glass of wine in his hand. At one point he gets up and approaches the violinist, somehow managing to get her to lend him the violin. He begins playing on it and the women are smitten.

I roll my eyes and lean back against the sofa.

The madam in black leather walks over to Carl and he pauses in his violin playing.

“I haven’t asked for your name, sir. How may I address you?”

“I’m Kael.”

I almost chortle at the fancy, archaic-sounding moniker he’s given himself. Well, at least this means she hasn’t seen him before.

“Lord Kael,” she echoes. It sounds oddly fitting.

“Just Kael will do,” he smiles. Satisfied that he’s gotten his fill of attention, he returns the instrument to the blue-haired musician and comes back to the sofa.

Sitting up, I sneer at him. “Done with your circus acts, Mister Kael? Or are you perhaps looking for employment here?”

He pays no heed to me, but he finally notices the models on display. He scans them briefly, lips narrowing in an unimpressed manner. Turning to the madam hovering around him, he asks her in a low voice. “Is this all you have to offer?”

She chuckles coyly. “What is your preference, Master Kael?”

“Women,” he replies. “Show me your best ones. I promise you will be handsomely paid.”

“Sure. Just a moment,” the madam turns and walks into the hallway behind the reception counter.

“Just hurry up and pick one,” I hiss at him. “It’s not as if we’re doing this for real.”

"Relax, the night is still young," he says, sipping his drink.

A minute later, the madam comes back with six feminine models trooping after her. Most of them are all tall, slender or voluptuous. I have nothing but pity for them. Even if they’re practicing the world’s oldest profession.

Carl inclines his head in approval and strolls over to browse the lineup of escorts, surveying each and every one thoughtfully. I suspect he’s doing all this to annoy me.

Clearing my throat, I approach the madam and enquire bluntly. “Are they all healthy?”

She seems taken aback at my question. “Why, of course, they are all healthy, clean and flawless,” she says in an offended tone. Giving me a derisory look, she adds. “And we expect our clients to use the necessary protection as well. Everything you need can be found in the room.”

“You needn’t worry about that,” I reply evenly, shooting another impatient glance at Carl.

At last, one of the escorts has caught his fancy – a girl in a violet see-through nightgown with wavy hair the same color as his, but of a warmer tone. She has an air of innocence and seems to be the youngest of them all. Carl takes her hand and she gazes back at him starry-eyed.

I can’t help but wrinkle my nose in distaste. “Is she even… of legal age?“

“She is not as young as she looks,” the madam assures me quickly, as if she’s been asked this question countless times. But really, considering how old Carl is, it wouldn’t make a difference if she were sixteen, sixty or six hundred. “For your knowledge, she’s one of the Heartstoppers.”

“What does that mean?” Heartstoppers, I don’t like the sound of it.

“This means she is in a different league from the rest,” the madam explains with a wink. “You’ll find out what talents she has. However, do ensure you are in robust health before taking her to bed. We won’t be held responsible for any deaths caused by over-excitement.”

“She’ll do for the night,” Carl nods and continues playing the perfect gentleman. “What is your name?” he asks the girl.

“Leona,” she says shyly.

The madam places a hand on my shoulder. “And what about you, sir?”

I stare into her dark eyes blankly before realizing she’s asking if I’ve taken my pick.

“I… I want her as well,” I declare, pointing at the same girl.

“Oh, you want to share her?” the madam's eyes gleam in amusement. “Do note, you’ll have to pay the full price, not half.”

“I’m fine with that.”

“Also, if you two wear her out so much that she can’t take any more clients after that, you'll have to compensate us accordingly. And lastly, nothing violent or bloody. You are not to leave any wounds on her.”

“Not a problem.”

“Do you mind?” Carl asks the girl softly while I fight the urge to roll my eyes again.

She glances at me, giggles and shakes her head.

I can’t wait for this farce to be over.

“Leona will show you to your room,” the madam announces, gesturing at the hallway.

The girl proceeds towards the first door, and we follow behind her.

“Don’t touch her,” I remind Carl, paranoia suddenly seizing me. Although it is highly unlikely that Necrophos’ diseases are spread through simple skin contact, it still pays to be safe.

“I’ll let you do the touching,” he promises. He seems to know what he’s doing, although I have no idea what he has in mind.

The girl opens the door, revealing a dimly lit chamber. In the middle is a king-sized bed with dark-red satiny sheets and downy pillows. She perches herself on the edge of the bed, her large amber eyes darting between me and Carl. There is a mix of nervousness and excitement in those eyes.

“You need a bath, Magina,” Carl scrunches his nose at me. “Give yourself a good scrub down.”

“Piss off,” I retort. Crossing my arms, I begin my stroll around the room, inspecting the surroundings. The shiny bathroom attached to it looks like it's fit for a king as well. There is a chest of drawers next to the bed, and I suppose it contains the prophylactic that the madam mentioned. I wonder how many people bother to use it while they’re in the throes of lust.

I turn around to see Carl unclasping his cloak, easing himself out of the garment and letting it fall to the ground. Now the girl seems to have broken out of her shyness. She reaches up for his waist and tries to navigate the elaborate buckles on his belt.

This is when I reach the limit of my patience. “Car… I mean Kael,” I growl. “Do you have the slightest idea what you’re doing?”

I can’t describe how infuriated I am at the sight of the girl fiddling with Carl’s belt. He can’t be doing this for real. Not in front of me.

He doesn’t answer, but sits down on the bed beside the girl. She doesn't move, her eyes following his every move intently. Slowly, he leans towards her as if to kiss her, and she closes her eyes in anticipation. But instead of touching her lips, he moves to her ear and whispers something.

Almost immediately, she begins to shiver.

Carl draws back as if in surprise. “What’s the matter?”

She stares back at him, wide-eyed. “I’m feeling really cold,” she says, wrapping her arms around herself.

Carl tilts his head as if he has no clue what she’s talking about, but he gives me a meaningful look when she stops shaking.

I understand, now, what I have to do. Crossing over to the bed in two strides, I grab her upper arm roughly, making the poor girl jump. Her soft skin seems to melt in my fingers, almost like the cheese I ate the other day.

She starts to shiver again.

“What’s wrong with you?” I demand, keeping my grip firmly on her. “You’re the only one feeling cold here.”

“I don’t know,” she moans. “I’ve never felt like this before.” Her teeth starts to chatter.

“Well, this is strange.” Carl puts his cloak back on. “Let me get someone to come over.”

He walks out of the room and I continue holding the trembling girl. In her eyes I can see not just confusion, but a growing fear, which makes me almost want to let go of her. Although I know how Cold Snap is supposed to work, I don’t want to be known as someone who harasses prostitutes.

A brief moment later, Carl returns with the madam.

“Look at her,” he points to the shivering girl, his tone now taking on a dissatisfied edge. “I can’t have someone so sickly keeping me company for the night. This is unacceptable.”

Knitting her brows, the madam comes over and puts a hand on Leona’s forehead. “I swear she’s in perfect health,” she shrugs. “Well, I could get you a replacement, if you wish.”

Carl folds his arms, unappeased. “I don’t want a replacement. I demand to see the owner of this establishment.”

“I’m sorry, but that's not possible-"

“I want to see Rotund’jere. Right now,” he repeats, his voice raising a notch.

Her mouth drops open at the name. She flicks her eyes towards me, and back at Carl. “Who are you?”

“Rotund’jere will know who I am,” Carl drawls in a softly dangerous voice, towering over her menacingly.

The madam hesitates for a while, seeming to consider her options. Her face betrays no fear, but she darts one last cautious look at me and backs away to the door.

 


	5. Guilt of the Sinner

 

It is just the three of us in the room now. I release my hold on the girl and her shivering slows down to a halt, her spasming muscles finally given a rest. As she catches her breath, she looks pleadingly at me and Carl. “Please, let me go. I don’t know who you are and what you want. I’m just here to make a living.”

Carl nods. “You may go.”

She rises to her feet waveringly. The part of her upper arm I gripped is now slightly bruised, and I can’t help but feel bad about it. She is, after all, one of the more innocent parties here.

Once she’s out of the room, I shut the door.

“I wonder if we went overboard with her,” I muse out loud.

“ _You_ went overboard,” Carl wags a finger at me like a preacher. “Going by the brothel’s rules, you should compensate her for being rough,” he deadpans. “Whereas I used only a fraction of my power, without even necessitating my orbs.”

I slap his hand away. “Ever the perfect gentleman,  _Master Kael_ ,” my voice drips with acid. “The ladies simply adore you, eh? There’s Lina, Leona -”

 “You’re jealous.” His luminous eyes bore sharply into mine.

“Am not.” I quickly switch my attention to the painted antique lamp beside the bed. The air in the room smells warm and cloying with perfume.

“Don’t forget, you’re the one who wanted a break from me.” His tone has taken on a hard edge.

Dismissing him with a shrug, I pace to the end of the room, and then back to the door. This isn’t the right time nor place to indulge in petty drama, and I still don’t know how things will play out when Necrophos appears. All I know is that I can’t kill him before finding out what I need to know about the Dead God.

But Carl won’t let the matter rest. He plants himself in front of me and stops me from opening the door.

 “That was what you said, remember?” he reiterates. “You wanted a break from me.”

 “Yes, but so what? Why do you keep harping on it?”

The temperature around me rises and he emits a sound like a growl of exasperation. “Because it upsets me, you fool!”

I frown, trying to make sense of his outburst. And then it hits me, like some kind of epiphany about the universe. Despite his outward nonchalance, he was so bothered about what I said that he spent the entire night getting back at me.  

“Well, I…” An apology forms at the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it back down. “That was what I felt at that time.” This is the most I will concede.

He huffs grudgingly and goes over to sit on the bed.

I open the door and look outside. The reception area and front parlor are eerily empty. Everyone is gone; not a single patron, lady of the night, man or creature of the night remains. The brothel has been hastily vacated for some reason.

“Will Necrophos really turn up?” I wonder.

“I reckon he will,” Carl says. He seems to simmer down as quickly as he flares up. “But he will most certainly be prepared, knowing there are two of us here.”

I suddenly feel protective over him. “Stay here in this room,” I order him. “I can deal with whoever comes.”

“Of course,” he grins. “With my help.”

There is a noise from outside. I turn to check it out, but Carl pulls me to him and makes me look into his eyes. The air around him dances purple and crimson. This unsettles me at first, but begins to feel familiar. His eyes glow intensely, the gold flecks in them becoming sparks igniting the air. A surge of energy travels through me, galvanizing every fiber of my being.

I run, or rather – fly - out of the room, trying not to dwell on how nice it feels to be as light as the wind. It wouldn’t be wise to get addicted to such temporary boosts as the Alacrity spell.

Once I step into the parlor, a masked man in black jumps at me brandishing a short sword. His movements are amateurish, so I don’t bother calling on my blades. Dodging his attack, I thrust the heel of my hand into his larynx, causing him to choke and sink to his knees.

I can sense the position of the second assailant without even looking. Body moving faster than mind, I pivot and deliver a kick into his ankle, knocking it out from under him and making him flop flat on his face.

As the injured henchmen stagger and limp out of the half-open door, I fold my arms and wait.

Two more armed men barge in, throwing projectiles at me. These are instantly deflected by my Blades of Yoskreth.

“Get out. I don’t wish to kill anyone,” I warn, hoping these two unskilled lackeys will be deterred by the sight of my weapons.

Their eyes stretch wide in terror, but not at me. A searing heat brushes past me as Carl’s forged spirits fly over to hurl flaming bolts at the intruders. One begins shouting in panic and the other claws at his mask, which has caught fire. Without a further glance at me, both men turn tail and flee out of the door.

Still no Necrophos in sight. I contemplate teleporting outside and confronting whatever that is out there.

Suddenly, my nose picks up something bad. It’s dank and stale, causing dull nausea to churns at the pit of my gut. Holding my breath, I back away as the fetid stench diffuses in the air. Just when the stench seems to thin out and fade, another wave assaults me. My magic-sensitive eyes can see it now, a nebulous fog pulsating with necromantic force, staining the air vomit-green.

I accidentally inhale some of the fumes. My chest begins to feel a little stuffy as my lungs fill with the smell of death – a slow and wasting, withering kind of death. All this doesn’t hurt me, but seems to sap my energy. My limbs feel heavier and every movement takes slightly more effort.

It’s easy for me to escape this place, but Carl is still in the bedroom and I can’t leave him here while the noxious fog fills the entire brothel. He won’t die from it, but no - I don’t want anything this revolting touching him.

Still holding my breath, I turn and dash towards the room.

“Carl!”

He is lounged on the bed, reading a book.

“Has the Pope arrived?” he drawls in a bored manner, hardly startled by my sudden appearance.

I grab the blanket off the bed and stuff it against the door to try to seal off the cracks. “You have to get out of here right now,” I tell him urgently.

He closes the book, a thick volume with a hard cover. When I notice its title, I almost do a backflip.  _The Holy Bible._

“What in the-“

“Found it in here,” he grins and shoves the book back into the drawer beside the bed. “Rotund’jere probably wants his patrons to read this before they get punished for their…sins.”

“He is releasing something toxic into this place. Can you smell it?” I realize the stench is being masked by the perfume in the room.

He sniffs the air. “Maybe, a little.”

“It’s getting thick outside and it’s coming in waves.” I wonder why he isn’t half as anxious as I am. “We need to get out right now.”

His leisurely composure is broken by a small, dry cough. Three blue spheres spring up around him, which means he’s finally taking the situation seriously. But even with his strengthened constitution, he is still susceptible to Necrophos’ plague magic.

“Let’s go,” I try to pull him along to the door.

“No. I’m not getting out from there.”

“Then where?” I ask confusedly. There is only one way out of this underground brothel, and that is through the front door.

“Up.” He points at the ceiling.

For a moment I wonder what he’s talking about, but my jaw drops when the spheres around him change colors.

With a thunderous boom, the meteor crashes through the ceiling just a few feet away from us, landing with a burst of fiery abandon. Tongues of flames leap out to lick everything they touch. The huge burning boulder tumbles through the hallway until it smashes against the wall with another loud crash. The chandelier falls and shatters to pieces.

I stare up at the gaping hole in the ceiling, showering plaster and debris. The night sky hovers above, but I don’t see how Carl can get himself up there.

“I trust you’ll be able to handle Necrophos alone,” he says, readying his orbs. With a flourish of his hands, a large slab of ice coalesces at his feet.

“Yes, I’ll be fine.” I cast a quick glance at the burning brothel. The fire is devouring everything, the shattered door of the room, the furniture and drapes in the parlor. The meteor is crumbling, giving off a whiff of sulfur.

When I turn back, I raise my brows to see what Carl has done. One ice block has been piled on another to create a veritable staircase reaching up to the open air.

He admires his handiwork before stepping on it. I am more concerned that he looks a little breathless. “Go quickly, and lie low for now.” I give him a gentle push as he ascends the ice staircase, which is melting as quickly as it was formed. He vanishes into the night before I can say anything more. 

Meanwhile, I need to get out before the fire and smoke traps me in. The heat is scorching, my eyes are watering. Dust and embers are flying around. Dodging the falling debris, blinking past the burning furniture, I manage to make my way fairly quickly to the basement corridor outside.

It is empty. Whoever was here must have fled at the sight of the fire. I climb up the stairs back to the unused hall in Duke’s palace, and then I see him at the other end of the dimly lit room.

Necrophos.

He is a twisted mockery of the powerful religious figure he once was.  He wears the same vestments and pointed hat, but all glowing sickly green.

Retreating from me, he slips out through the door nearby. I pursue him into a deserted courtyard. Although we’re out in the open, the air is still thick with the miasma oozing from the plague-mage. He lifts a hand, and a scythe much taller than his hunched self appears. His other hand grips Leona by the wrist. The girl is so weak she can barely stand, let alone struggle against him.

“How much lower can you stoop?” I glare at him, my blades at the ready. “A whorehouse of disease, useless lackeys, a cheap poison that barely tickles me, and now a hostage?”

Necrophos chuckles, shaking the long shaggy beard that covers most of his face. I half expect something live to crawl out of it.

“Ah, it’s the Anti-Mage. The Dead God sends his regards.”

My jaw tightens. Dismissing my blades, I teleport behind him to grasp his scrawny neck. As his mana dissipates, he groans, an awful hollow sound. He releases Leona and she falls to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

“Answer my questions and I’ll spare your life,” I order him, squeezing his neck. It feels spongy in my hand. “What does the Dead God look like? Where can I find him? How can I kill him?”

Necrophos makes a choking sound and I abruptly let go of him. He turns around slowly. I look into the beady eyes sitting in his sallow face and see his past - a cardinal corrupted by his own greed and banished to waste away from the pox. Those eyes no longer hold anything human.   

He stands there wheezing noisily through the two malformed holes that used to be his nose. He opens his mouth as if to reply, and hearing the rattling in his chest, I quickly blink away as he explodes into a shuddering series of wet coughs, Something thick dislodges from his lungs.

_Ugh._

I almost want to kill him to end his agony. Why, instead of submitting to death, would one choose to keep themselves in a permanently diseased state? Is immortality really worth the sacrifice of one’s soul?

Meanwhile, Leona is on the floor, panting and clutching her chest. Time seems to tick away as her health deteriorates. I really want to finish this matter fast and get her out of here alive.

“Answer me!” I bark at Necrophos, brandishing my blade before his throat.

“I have bad news for you, Anti-Mage,” he rasps, shaking his head. “Only the purest of warriors can slay the Dead God. And you are not one of them.”

“What?”

“I know of your sins,” he repeats, his lungs rattling like rusty nails in a tin can. He lifts his scythe and points it at me, the weapon surprisingly light in his frail hand. The inscriptions on it begin to glow bright green. “You have committed the sin of lust.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” My heart pounds in my ears. Though I’m the only one not coughing here, I do feel slightly unwell now. My head is tight and buzzing with what Necrophos just said. Maybe he’s referring to that thing I did with Carl at the library in Arcanus Academy. But I was under Mireska’s spell at that time!

 “You are impure, Anti-Mage,” he taunts. “You are not fit to slay the Dead God.”

I make a swing at him, but my blade slices through thin air. Necrophos has turned into an ethereal ghostlike figure, mocking at my frustration with his sickening wheezing laugh.

“But I have good news.” A hollow cackle echoes around the courtyard. “You can’t beat the Dead God, but you can join him.”

“You’re lying, you stinking bag of filth.” Shaking myself out of my anger, I consider how to weaken him further. As a caster’s mana runs low, their link with the Devil fades and their soul cries out to be freed to return to the light. But I can’t kill him yet. Not before he’s answered my questions properly.

Now he sets his sights on Leona on the floor. “Come, my dear,” his ghostly hand reaches for her.

“No, please…don’t!” The girl sobs as she tries to crawl away from him. If she dies, Necrophos will turn her corpse into mana for himself.

“Not in a hell’s chance,” I snarl.

Before I can touch him, Necrophos bursts into flames. The sky above flashes brilliantly as the sun is at its zenith, its light shooting down and torching him. My blade swings at him on its own accord, its edge sizzling as it erodes his shrinking pool of mana. His arm separates from his torso and the scythe falls to the ground with a heavy thud.

Almost immediately, the air begins to clear.

My chest feels less stuffy, and I can see that Leona has stopped struggling to breathe. But the sight of her boss combusting in front of her is too much, and she faints anyway.  

Flailing his remaining arm, Necrophos staggers away from me as bright orange flames lick his wizened body, turning him into a hobbling lamp in the dark courtyard. I stare at him, unmoving, as he stumbles over some steps. He will die from his injuries, without mana to heal himself.

My head is still throbbing dully. I don’t know what he did to me, although his magic didn’t come close to killing me. Rubbing my temples, I glance at Leona, passed out unconscious on the ground. I crouch down to check her vitals. Pulse and breathing are normal, now that Necrophos and his aura are gone. There are no obvious wounds on her.

From the distance I can see the town guards and firefighters rushing to the burning brothel. The sky is still dark, it’s nowhere near daybreak yet. The sun was only out for that moment that Necrophos needed to be torched.

Carl. I need to find him and make sure he’s alright. He’s destroyed part of Duke’s palace, and it’s fairly easy to trace the damage back to him. I’m sure that by daybreak he’ll be on the wanted list of the Tyler Estate. And it’s all because of me.

But we didn’t decide on a place to meet. So how do I start looking for him?

I notice the fallen scythe on the ground and pick it up. Carl might be able to read the inscriptions on it. As for Leona, I will just leave her here. The guards will find her.

With the scythe in my hands, I make my way out of the courtyard, wandering aimlessly around the vicinity. Besides keeping well away from the guards who are investigating the scene, I don’t know where to go.

A figure engulfed in flames comes towards me, and for a moment I think it’s Necrophos. But I realize it is a fire elemental belonging to Carl. Relieved, I rush over to it. This means that Carl is nearby.

“Take me to your master,” I request. The spirit turns around, as if obeying me, but I think it is just doing what it was told to do.

I follow the fire elemental as it glides along a path away from the town center. Yes, Carl should have the good sense not to spend the night in a bar or inn in town. Although what he’s done is justified, there’s a high chance he’d be arrested for that spectacular fire he caused. Carl has his ways of eluding them but the Tyler Estate has its ways too. And if indeed he gets captured, the Silencer will make him suffer just for the heck of it. I know Nortrom; he isn’t like me. He holds an entirely different kind of hatred towards mages.

We pass by a small church, quiet and deserted in the night. I think back about my encounter with the nasty Necrophos. According to Carl, he is one of the handful who have ever stared the Dead God in the face and lived. Yet I failed to find out anything important from him.    

 _You have sinned_ ,  _Anti-Mage_.  _You are not fit to slay the Dead God._

Thinking of it makes my head hurt again.

There is a cemetery to my left. Such places always bring back memories of that fateful day at Turstarkuri, when everything was taken away from me. Since that day, the only thing that has kept me going is the hope of avenging my brothers. All the training, quests and battles are but preparation for this moment. If I can’t have my revenge -

Utter rubbish. Necrophos was talking rot. I should have wrung his neck the moment I saw him!

The scythe in my hand pulsates with dark energy and my arm starts to tingle uncomfortably. I almost drop it. The weapon must have been forged using the Dead God’s power. If I can find Carl, I’ll ask him about it. And I will ask him about what Necrophos said.

Or maybe not. He’ll just laugh at me. 

The forged spirit leads me past a pair of gates to a trail threading between tall trees, alongside a lake. It has taken us mere minutes to reach the edge of town. Radinthul isn’t a big place. I travelled here to take part in the war, but I never expected things to turn out the way they did tonight. In all my years of adventuring and mage-slaying, I’ve never wrecked public places like this.

The surroundings are much quieter and more desolate. The air smells so fresh and clean now, more so especially after that encounter with Necrophos. My own clothes carry no trace of the plague-mage, as my body has a way of repelling any stench of a magical nature. But I remember how tired I am. The past few days have been spent covering long distances by teleportation, and the night has been eventful. My stomach is empty as I didn’t partake of the Heroes’ Banquet, but I have no appetite for food right now. All I want right now is a good sleep.

But I cannot rest until I find Carl.

The fire elemental stops at a pair of gates and fizzles out, plunging everything into the depths of the night. I can’t see my surroundings well, but I have no fear of the dark, having defeated powerful enemies blindfolded. If one believes in the light with all their heart, the darkness will recede.

I venture deeper into the forest, guided only by the light of the stars. Finally, another fire elemental appears and leads me to Carl, standing inside a close thicket of trees.

Heaving a sigh of relief, I run over to him, my footsteps slowing as I reach him.

“There you are.”

He smiles faintly at me, looking rather subdued. Tired, probably. I can tell how much his spells have taken out of him. The luster in his eyes is a little less, his loose hair floats around his face in the night breeze.

“Did you finish off the old fart?” He glances at the scythe I’m holding.

“I cut off his arm and took this from him.” I let the scythe fall to the ground.

He makes no move to inspect the weapon. “So, what did you find out from him?” There is no trace of his usual arrogance, just plain curiosity.

“He… um. I don’t want to talk about it now.” I sigh and look away.

He nods and leaves it as that. Stepping closer, he searches my face. “You look worried.”

My thoughts shift from Necrophos’ words to the mess we left behind. “Well, we’ve destroyed part of Duke’s Palace. It’s no small matter.”

“I did it. You’re not responsible for the damage,” he says reasonably. “We could part ways if you wish.”

“No.”

He smiles and steps closer, bridging the gap between us. Almost touching me, but he doesn’t initiate. Maybe it’s because I don’t smell that great. He did tell me earlier that I needed a bath.

It could be my imagination, but I can smell the sulfur from the meteorite on myself. I remain as rigid as a pole as unwanted scenarios flash through my mind. “All this wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t followed me into the brothel.”

“It was worth it.”

“How so?” I fix my gaze on the dimple on his cheek. It baffles me why I am so drawn to this slight indentation on his face.

“Well, I learned a few things from that little episode.”

“Like what?”

“Like how much you care for me,” he says quietly. There is no smugness, just a confidence in the truth of what he is saying.

And I won’t refute that. I lift my hand and touch his cheek. “I care for you as I would for any extreme sufferer of magic addiction.”

The dimple deepens and he presses his lips on mine briefly. It sets my body alight. He pauses, and by some sorcery his cloak falls away on its own, leaving him in white robes and pants.

I immediately pull him into my arms, digging my fingers into his hair. He remains still, his slender form moulded against me, and I can feel his heart beating rapidly. One that should have stopped long ago, but is kept beating by means of magic.

The first time I held him like this was at the Sun and Moon tavern. It was different then. At that time, he was brimming with mana, but now he is spent. I am surprised at how he feels in my arms now. So vulnerable, and in a way, pure.

 _You are mine_ , I murmur as if in a dream, not really knowing what I’m talking about.  _Mine._  I don’t realize I’m almost crushing him until he makes a small, uncomfortable noise.

I loosen my arms quickly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He huffs amusedly, blowing a few strands of his hair at my face. “Am I a delicate flower to you?”

“In this moment, yes,” I say truthfully. “Your mana is almost depleted, which means you are one step closer to salvation. Just one move from me, and your soul will be returned to the light.”

“You won’t do it,” he breathes the words against my lips.

“Not now. But I can’t promise I won’t in future. You never know what will happen.”

“Honest to a fault, as always.” He pushes me against a tree and kisses me hungrily.

Perhaps this is the reason why he is drawn to me - because I’m not one of those ingratiating lap dogs who’re after him for various insincere reasons. I truly can’t foretell how things will unfold in future, but right now, I allow myself to be lost in the embrace and the feel of his hands beneath my vest. I can feel his arousal straining against mine.

My body longs for him but something holds me back. My mind is still reeling from the encounter with Necrophos.

“Carl…” I try to draw back from him but he startles me with a yelp.

“What’s the matter?” I frown.

“Get it away from me!” He cries, flinching back. I’ve never seen him so unsettled, not even during the war.

I turn around puzzledly to see what caused the alarm. Turns out it’s a spider the size of my palm, hanging from the tree.  

Carl isn’t content to leave it alone. He conjures a fire elemental, sending it to burn the arachnid and its web. I can tell from his strained breathing and trembling hands that he is calling upon the last dregs of his energy. Outside of the battle grounds, we don’t carry around those trinkets that help us to regenerate.

He calms down only when the spider has been burned to a crisp. And then he leads his forged spirit to a nearby log to inspect it for any of those dreaded creepy-crawlies. Satisfied that there is none, he sits down on the log with a tired yawn.

I settle down beside him, fascinated by the new fact I’ve just learned about him. “You’re afraid of spiders.”

“It’s a long story, from one of the wars I took part in long ago,” he says drowsily.

“Tell it to me.”  

His response is to shift himself and lay his head on my lap. The move surprises me, but feels pleasant. I wait for him to tell me his story but he doesn’t say a word. He must have dozed off.

Glancing down at the mass of silken hair splaying over my lap, I pick up a lock of it, feeling its gossamer-like texture slide through my fingers.

 

 


	6. The Tyler Estate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly introspective chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Lore references:
> 
> -Bounty Hunter hired by Mireska’s father to bring her back to Revtel  
> -Silencer and Anti-Mage working for the Tyler Estate
> 
> 2) Various (unrelated) Dota 2 locations inserted into the story: Hazhadal Barrens, Ultimyr, Thorny Wastes
> 
> 3) Rubick has a mention here. I was inspired by one of AmyAndAmnesia's works.

 

 

_We knelt side by side in the dark courtyard, me and a young novice monk I had fought with earlier in the day. It was our punishment for breaking the rules of the monastery. We gritted our teeth through the harsh winter night in our nettle-and-hemp robes, our knees pressed to the rough stone floor. That night, we turned from enemies to friends._

_But the next day, he was gone._

_He was the last one to go. I watched as he tried to wake the others, the seniors who refused to budge from their red cushions. Help them! Do something, my mind urged. If I had tried harder, perhaps, I could have saved one of them. But like the coward that I was, I ran and hid behind a clump of trees, watching the meditation hall turn into a blood-splattered mass grave._

_And then they came for me._

_My foot slipped on the ledge and I tumbled down the rocky incline to the base of the mountain._

A hoarse, strangled sound jolts me awake, and I realize the sound is coming from my own throat. My eyes snap open, the last few strands of the dream teasing the fringes of my vision. I’ve had the same nightmare too many times over the years, but now at least, the faces have grown blurry, gradually dimming from memory. Those faces and names bring me nothing but pain.

Slowly, the scents and sounds of the forest invade my dream-dulled senses. Shafts of sunlight are streaming in through the full green canopy, illuminating the ground. Birds are twittering, insects are humming. A squirrel scurries past me and up a tree trunk. I have no idea how long I’ve slept, but it feels like a long time.

Something feels amiss. Getting to my feet, I spot something dark green lying on the grass, almost blending with the foliage. It’s a scythe. And then it all starts coming back, the jumbled-up scenes from yesterday: the brothel, the meteor, Necrophos.

And Carl… where is he? I remember the feel of his hair between my fingers. He was sleeping in my arms, or was it on my lap. He must have moved at some point during the night.

I look around; there is no sign of him at all. Was he really with me last night? Everything seems so distant and unreal. If not for the scythe lying at my feet, I’d have thought it was all a dream. I pick up the relic, intending to bring it to the Tyler Estate.

Nearby, a spider scuttles across the grass. It’s around the size of my palm, the same as the one I saw last night. I recall that Carl hates spiders. Maybe he saw one and ran a mile away.

I begin to wander randomly around the forest, searching for Carl’s tracks and expecting one of his fire elementals to appear any moment. But nothing appears.

The woods seem to stretch on forever and everywhere starts to looks the same. Damn, I realize I'm going around in circles. Digging into my pockets, I fish out a crumpled map and a compass to orient myself. This forest is a relatively large one, spanning a significant portion of the northwest corner of the town of Radinthul.

While I’m debating which way to go, a rustle at my feet alerts me to another spider crawling by. And another. There is a line of eight-legged critters moving purposefully towards the same direction, as though someone’s calling for them.

I decide to follow the arachnids, and they lead me unerringly to a clearing. Everything turns unusually quiet except for the sound of my boots crunching on the dead leaves. I pause, watching the spiders disappear into the other side of the clearing, where the trees gather densely again, their low-hanging limbs twisting and knotting with one another. There appears to be a translucent white veil shrouding the area. Walking closer, I realize this veil is made up of thick membrane-like ropes stretching from tree to tree. They resemble large, translucent fishing nets, but I know what they really are.

Gigantic spider webs.

An unexplained dread tugs at my guts as I stand and stare at those thick gossamer threads.

I check my map again. Not a wise idea to attempt to cross this territory of cobwebs, assuming I don’t get stuck in them and become food for the giant arachnid lurking around. Beyond this area lies a vast brambly patch of land called the Thorny Wastes that looks tricky to navigate.

My sense of unease grows by the second and I turn around, just in time to catch a fleeting shadow moving through the trees. Could it be Carl? I rush towards it, shouting his name. But it’s not him. The figure is of a much shorter stature.

The invisible figure intermittently glances back as though it’s being pursued by something or someone. And then it changes its direction, hurtling towards me and blossoming into a hazy maroon shape. Finally, the shape condenses into a girl in a maroon dress. She skids to a halt in front of me, mouth frozen open in a wordless scream.  

Mireska.

Some nerve she has, coming here. My face burns when I recall that jinx she placed on me at the library at Arcanus Academy, the one that led me to commit that shameful act.

 _You little twat,_ I narrow my eyes at her, a snarl escaping my lips.  _You can’t run from me now. I’ll wring you dry as a desiccated dish-rag._  

But this time, I take extra care to watch out for that nasty pink wisp.

Surprisingly, Mireska doesn’t run from me. She stiffens, as if struck by something from behind. Her face twists in an expression of pain. She raises her arm weakly, teeters on her feet and collapses to the ground.

I make no move towards her motionless body, waiting for her attacker to show up first. Seconds later, a figure breaks out of invisibility right behind her.

He is a lean-muscled man with rat ears, shifty eyes and a red mask covering the lower part of his long, thin face. I don’t recognize him at all; he doesn’t seem like a member of the Tyler Estate.

I step forward cautiously, bending down to examine Mireska. She’s still breathing, but unconscious. Lodged in her shoulder is a shiny, star-shaped shuriken. 

“What did you do to her?” I demand.

“She’s merely tranquilized,” the rat-like man replies in a low, scratchy voice, gesturing at me with his curved blades to step aside. “I will bring her back to Revtel.”

I hold my ground firmly. “Hand her to me. She’s wanted by the Tyler Estate.”

His eyes begin to gleam as vehemently as the emerald edges of his blades. “Nothing’s coming between me and my ten-thousand-gold bounty,” he growls.

Ten-thousand-gold, did I hear that correctly? What organization could have sent this man, I wonder, tempted to brandish my weapons as well. But I take a deep breath and step back instead.

“Who hired you?” I ask, my stance more curious than confrontational this time.

“Her father, a merchant king of Revtel. She set fire to her own house, and he wants her back.”

I shake my head as I think of the serial troublemaker getting away with her crimes with merely a slap on the hand. Whatever punishment she gets would certainly pale in comparison to what the Tyler Estate has in store for her. She should thank her lucky stars the bounty hunter got to her first.

Seeing that I’m not a threat, the ratty man sheaths his weapons, his shrewd eyes revealing no emotion other than that glint of greed. In the same businesslike manner, he picks up Mireska with a grunt and hefts her over his shoulder.

“How long will she stay unconscious?” I question him doubtfully. “Are you sure you can keep her under control? She’s a slippery one. When she wakes up, all hell will break loose.”

“Nah, she’s safe with me. Gondar always delivers. Everyone knows that.” With his quarry over his shoulder, the bounty hunter turns to leave. I stand and watch them fading into the distance. Although I don’t like going back to the Tyler Estate empty-handed, I’m not keen to get into a skirmish with a stranger over Mireska. She’s not worth it.

Tossing one last glance at the ominous cloud of cobwebs, I turn around to make my way out of the forest. I’m parched and my stomach feels like it’s been empty for days, which is one reason why I’m not feeling the most energetic at the moment. After I have refreshed myself, I will get back to the Silencer to update him about the situation, and to deposit the scythe.

As for Carl…

I have no idea where to find him. I presume he’s more than able to keep himself safe.

Soon I’m on the path heading towards the heart of town, the river alongside sparkling with sunlight. It should be around noon time. As I walk along the now-familiar streets, I take care to step out of the path of some children playing in the streets. A quarrel breaks out between two boys over a wooden toy train, escalating quickly into fisticuffs. A woman hurries over to reprimand them.

Sometimes I try to imagine what my own mother looks like. I was told she’d given birth to me out of wedlock and disappeared when I was too young to remember anything. My father died soon after, from illness, and my brother and I were sent to a foster home. I never really belonged to that family.

The only real family I had were my brothers at Turstarkuri.

As for my real brother - he rarely crosses my mind, for he has been in and out of prison since I was eight. Lately I heard he’s going to be inside for a long time, for doing the unthinkable. I did visit him once; it was awkward and we had little to talk about. According to him, our mother always liked him best. But I’m not sure whether to believe him. I don’t think he’s even of sound mind anymore.

The sunny weather has suddenly turned overcast, the gentle breeze becoming a chilly wind. A light drizzle begins, threatening to turn into a downpour. Spotting the Sun and Moon tavern, I walk into it and settle down at the very same table that I had shared with Carl the other day. He’s not here, of course. Some wary glances are thrown my way, probably because of Necrophos’ scythe in my hands.

The waiter comes and I order a beef stew, once again declining the ale in favor of arrowroot tea. The food warms my stomach, and when I’m done, I proceed upstairs to find a room to freshen up.

My room is peaceful apart from the sound of the rain outside. Emerging from the bathroom after washing up, I use the time alone to ruminate and reflect on my actions for the past few days. It’s not because I’m affected by what Necrophos said about me being unfit to slay the Dead God – that’s pure gibberish, the ravings of a lunatic. Rather, I think about how my hatred for the Dead God and my thirst for revenge have driven me to accept Carl’s help and friendship, because I see him as the lesser of two evils. But is that the right thing to do?

It’s much easier to think rationally when he isn’t around. Yes, I admit I’ve succumbed to my bodily urges more than once. But aside from physical desire, there’s really nothing much, is there?

Maybe it’s a good thing I’ve lost him.

After drawing the curtains to darken the room, I make myself comfortable on the floor and mentally lay out my plans for the day. After a round of meditation, I will head to the Tyler Estate, which will take another intense teleportation journey. Once I have settled my business, I will search for a training ground to keep my fitness up and my skills sharp. Although I have no idea when the next war will be, I’d like to enter it in fighting shape, instead of having to rely on my teammates to fend off enemies while I train in the jungle.

I close my eyes, quiet my mind and focus on my breathing.

 **The Tyler Estate**  isn’t based permanently in any building. Its location changes periodically so that it is more difficult for its enemies to target it.

Its present base of operations is in the town of Ultimyr. Walking out of the town hall, I find the streets teeming with people and creatures of various races. There seems to be some festivities going on, as the townsfolk are dressed in colorful costumes and their faces hidden under elaborate masks. I can tell that some of them aren’t ordinary folks; I can smell the magic emanating from them.

Finding myself dallying, I step up my pace and push through the crowd. I really need to stop looking and wondering if Carl could be one of those people.

Ultimyr is apparently a popular destination for magic-users because of its famed library and university. Whether due to this reason something else, the Tyler Estate has chosen to operate here. But I am not one to ask such questions. Neither have I asked how the Tyler Estate got its name.

Right now, I just want to unburden myself of the accursed scythe in my hands and take a short rest to recover from the wearying effects of long-distance teleportation.

My destination is a secluded wooded area at the north-eastern edge of town. On top of a hill, with the vast sea stretching beyond. After checking the map, I set off on an hour-long journey on foot.

Meanwhile, I think back about how I first met Nortrom.

It was at the Hazhadal Barrens, a place known for scummy wizards who enjoy binding animals to their will. While the low-level enthrallers usually keep to themselves, one of them was becoming a nuisance. That particular enthraller had taken control of various intelligent and ferocious animals, such as wild dogs, snakes and hyenas, and had been sending them to invade the nearby savannah villages. Rumor had it that he had also been aspiring to manipulate humans.

That was when I was called in, before things got out of hand. When I confronted him, the imbecile even tried to charm me and bribe me with treasure, but failed spectacularly, of course.

Nevertheless, he did manage to trick me into thinking he was dead, and attempted to catch me off-guard from behind. He would have succeeded if not for Nortrom’s glaive.

Seeing the numerous wounds, bites and scratches I’d sustained from his army of mindless beasts, Nortrom offered me healing potions and a place to rest.

And that was how I joined him.

In truth, I’m not terribly enthusiastic about working for the Tyler Estate, for a variety of reasons.

I look up to see the mansion sitting atop the hill, bathed in the warm glow of sunset. Destination reached. I climb up the broad stone steps leading up to the tightly guarded building. One of the guards, a muscular fish-human hybrid, acknowledges me silently from the shadows. I know him as a Slithereen whose primary interest is to guard some underwater treasure from dryland sorcerers. I wonder what other interesting creatures Nortrom’s managed to recruit recently. A doorman lets me in.

Nortrom isn’t in his office. The empty room is spacious but nondescript, without any decorations or personal mementos to give it a touch of humanity. Like me, he dislikes frivolity of any sort. There is a clean oak table with some documents arranged neatly on it. I place the scythe on it, relieved to be rid of this filthy object.

While I’m waiting for Nortrom, I notice, for the first time, the tall, sturdy bookshelf in the corner. All along I’ve never bothered to refer to books on how to defeat mages, preferring to rely on my practical experience and instincts. But today, something draws me towards the shelf. I reach into it and randomly pick the first thing I see: a thick tome bound in jade-green leather.

 _Magic: Friend or Foe,_ its title says. The author is  _Rubick, the Grand Magus._ Thumbing it open, I am greeted by two sentences sitting in the middle of the blank first page.

_To defeat thine enemy, thou must know him well. In fact, ‘tis best to know him inside out._

Hmph, I purse my lips, recalling my initial shock when Nortrom told me about the Grand Magus being an adviser to the Tyler Estate. His reasoning is that the institution doesn’t oppose all magic-users, but only the renegade ones. And so, for all intents and purposes, there is nothing wrong with allying with the Grand Magus.

This still doesn’t assuage my discomfort, but it isn’t the main reason why I dislike working for the Silencer.

It’s what he does to the imprisoned mages at the basement of the Tyler Estate. Particularly, it’s the way he laughs maniacally when he does those things.

I tuck the book back into the shelf, not intending to peruse any more of those morally dubious texts. But then my eyes inadvertently drift to the title next to it:  _The Arsenal Magus._ This one raises my brows, as the name rings a bell. I pull it out and flip it open, eyes immediately spotting  _The Arsenal Magus: The Life and Talents of Carl the Invoker._ This one is also written by Rubick.

So Rubick wrote an entire book on Carl, and it’s a substantial one, almost a thousand pages thick. I can only imagine how well he knows Carl to be able to do that.

I slam the book shut, shoving it unceremoniously into a random gap in the shelf. I turn around to check if the Silencer has returned. He hasn’t. Arms folded, I turn to face the bookshelf again, and only now do I see it. Why didn’t I notice it before?

The highest level, above my line of vision, is lined with a row of identical dark red tomes with gold lettering, ordered in volumes. The books are as thick as encyclopedias, and each bears the same title:  _The Memoirs of Carl the Invoker._  

‘Memoirs’ would mean that Carl wrote the books himself, wouldn’t it? I reach up to take out the latest volume, nine. Indeed, it’s written by him. I stare at the cover for a while, cover, resisting taking a peek into its contents. What would Nortrom say if he saw me reading this?

Pushing the memoir back into its slot, I turn to a lower shelf containing another series titled  _Magic Through the Ages._  I suspect these are written by Carl as well. I take a look at the latest volume, six. Indeed, it’s written by him.

I bring the book to a nearby chair, settling down and flipping to the contents page. It lists names and events that are significant in the world of magic. Familiar names leap out at me, stirring my memories.  _The Necromantic Corruption of Turstarkuri. Hroth, the Anvil Magus_ – I remember him as the one with the enchanted iron armor. And  _Sashk,_ the particularly depraved one who had used mind-control on the people of Yoskreth.

It feels strange to read about the events that are so personal to me, documented in such an impersonal manner. Of all people, I never expected Carl to be the one doing it. But then again, how much do I really know about him? More importantly, why are these books in the Tyler Estate?

I continue scanning down the list, eyes widening when I see my own name.

_Magina, the Mage-Slaying Prodigy._

My breath stops. Slowly, I turn to that particular page, my pulse rising in anticipation of what I would find. It is a short chapter, about two pages, briefly describing my skills and exploits.

I close the book and stare off into space for a while. Carl wrote a chapter about me, I let that sink in as I drag in a lungful of air. A pang of something hits me, the feeling of him in my arms flashes by but I’m too afraid to dwell in it. If I never see him again… I’ll just have to be content with his memoirs.

I’ll have to be content with being a chapter in his life. A really short one.

That’s how it is, I shrug as if none of that matters. After all, Turstarkuri’s teachings did say that everything in life is transient. Allies come and go, friends come and go. Even enemies come and go.

“Anti-Mage, I was just looking for you,” a low, steely voice pierces through my reverie. The Silencer is standing at the doorway in a long coat draped over his violet shirt and black pants.

I bolt upright from the chair and return the book to its place on the shelf as Nortrom strides in. Thinking he’s going to ask me about the Dark Willow, I walk to the table where the scythe is lying, getting ready to explain everything.

“What’s this?” He regards the scythe with interest, running a finger along the carvings.

“I obtained this from Necrophos,” I reply, skipping the details as I prefer my reports to be verbal and succinct. “As for the Dark Willow, she’s been captured by Gondar, the bounty hunter hired by her father.”

Nortrom nods, his bright blue eyes as cold as the winter sky. “I will find out more from you at a convenient time. Right now, I have urgent matters to attend to. Your appearance is timely.”

 


	7. Bloodthorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mild torture  
> (Bloodthorn is a Dota 2 item, a sword that silences, but I re-imagined it to be a kind of restraint)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on the Broodmother (Arachnia)
> 
> \- She has a human form in this story. Her lines suggest she was in some sort of a relationship with the Monkey King, so I imagine that she has a more attractive, human form.  
>  

 

 

“Yes, what do you require of me?” I crack my knuckles and flex my arm, feeling vitality flow back into the limb without being encumbered by the dark energy of Necrophos’ scythe.

Nortrom ambles to his desk. As he turns his back, I glimpse a scar at the base of his neck, under his cropped hair. I’m vaguely curious about it, but I don’t intend to ask.

“I’ve just been called to war, and will be away for a while,” he explains. “Meanwhile, I need your help with the Invoker.”

My face turns rigid. “What has he done now?”

“He’s crashed a meteor into Duke’s Palace at Radinthul.” The Silencer speaks with an unsettling calm, arranging a stack of bound scrolls on his desk.   

Just what I dreaded. There’s no way to hide something so dramatic from the Tyler Estate.  

An uncomfortable pause ensues, and I ask reluctantly. “Are you asking me to arrest him?”

“He’s already in our custody.” The emotionless gleam in his blue eyes carries a hint of satisfaction.

The ground suddenly feels unsteady beneath my feet. “How - when was he caught?”

“Early this morning at the Radinthul Forest. It took the combined efforts of Slardar and Arachnia.”

“ _Arachnia_ …” I feel the name wrap around my throat like sticky threads.

“She’s our newest member, hailing from the Thorny Wastes. Some call her the Broodmother.”

My stomach sinks as I recall those massive cobwebs in the woods while I was searching for Carl. The giant spider must have gone in from the north side of the forest. And there’s that brute Slardar. Two monsters hunted him down and cornered him in the forest. How could I have missed all that?

“Where is the Invoker now? Is he confined?”

“Right below us. He-”

“Take me to him now.”

Before Nortrom can continue, I’m already at the door, heading out of the office and cursing myself.

How could I have let this happen? Carl was so vulnerable last night, with so little mana left in him. He trusted me with his life, but instead of being there for him when he was in trouble, I was sleeping like a pig.

“No hurry,” Nortrom says as he strides up to me. “He is weak from injury and multiple doses of Arcane Curse. The special restraints placed on him are preventing him from speaking or casting spells. All you need to do is keep watch on him until I come back.”

“Injury?” I clench my fists, resisting the urge to give Nortrom a good shaking. “What kind of injury?”

“Just a bite from Arachnia. But once Slardar arrived, he surrendered without a struggle.”    

I quicken my footsteps, almost sprinting across the large foyer towards the stairway leading to the basement. It’s next to a door labelled  _Research Room_. At the reception sits two uniformed human guards behind a table, looking bored out of their skulls. They straighten up instantly at our presence.

“You seem eager to get to him,” Nortrom pants a little as he catches up with me. “Listen. I understand how much you hate mages, but do refrain from killing him _._ ”

I don’t know how to reply to this, so I keep my mouth shut.

“Do you hear me?” Nortrom’s voice turns clipped.

“Yes, loud and clear.”

“Under no circumstances should you kill the Invoker, unless he threatens your life. He holds much valuable information.”

I pause and glare at him. “You’re torturing him for information? You know how much I dislike such methods.”

“You have your principles, Anti-Mage, but you shouldn’t let them get in the way of your work.”

“How the hell is he supposed to give you the information if he can’t speak?” I can hear my agitation echoing in the stairwell as we descend to the basement. This is the first time I’m questioning the Tyler Estate, but once I start, I can’t stop.

“I have my ways. Rubick has his ways too, of getting what he wants from mages without them speaking.”

 _Rubick_. The thought of that cunning reptile of a man brings a bitter taste to my mouth. To think that the Silencer trusts him to that extent. What on earth is going on in that man’s head?

“How about those books on your shelf?” I persist. “Carl isn’t helping us, so what are his books doing at the Tyler Estate? Did you steal them?”

“Those books are public knowledge, Magina. They’re available in the libraries of many magic academies. The Invoker isn’t one to hide what he knows. Though he’s declined to have any involvement with us, he can’t stop us from using his books for our purposes.”

“You’re using his books, and yet you’ve locked him up?”

The crease on Nortrom’s forehead deepens. “I don’t understand your concern. Surely, you’re aware that Carl’s been on our watch list for many years, and that we have been giving him a respectful berth. It’s fuelled his arrogance, leading him to think that he is immune from us. This is certainly  _not_ the first time he’s crossed the line.”  

“Carl cast the meteor for a good reason,” I argue. “It was to get away from Necrophos. But you’re not even giving him a chance to speak.”

Nortrom shoots me an odd look, as if I’ve just sprouted a second head. As if I’m not Anti-Mage, but an imposter. “Why are you defending him now? Carl isn’t completely faultless. He destroyed a significant monument of Radinthul. The authorities are enraged, His Majesty himself ordered us to hold him accountable. We think it best that he be detained here for a week or so, at least until the matter blows over.”

“And after you release him, do you think he’ll let the matter rest?”

“What alternative do you suggest? What other ways do you have of dealing with errant mages, apart from bashing their skulls?”

I fold my arms and remain tight-lipped.

The walls of the underground prison are warded with protective magic that make them tougher to magical damage. In addition, the heavy steel door at the entrance is coated with a special material that interferes with the nearby elements, causing most spell-casting attempts to fail. This is typical of anti-magic prisons, such as the one I last visited in the Eastern Plains. But the Tyler Estate can’t afford to have every wall and door built with this expensive stuff, due to its frequent changes in location. Instead, it relies on the expertise of talented individuals.

Nortrom takes out his keys and unlocks the door. As we step in, we are greeted by an oppressive silence. No shouting or groaning coming from the cells; here, it’s quiet as a morgue. The sound of his own voice is the only sound the Silencer can tolerate.

Two gray-uniformed attendants are going about their duties without a word between them. The walls are white-washed and the facilities pristine and well-maintained.

As we stroll along the rows of windowless, numbered doors lining the corridor, my trepidation grows with every door I pass by. When we reach a fork in the corridor, I hear a soft click-clack to my right.

It’s a black-clad woman in high heels, smiling at me. Her long, ebony hair blends in with the silk dress wrapped around her hourglass-shaped figure. On her midriff is a red, hourglass-shaped design, and a delicate webbed lace pattern stretches from her bosom up to her neck. She stands half a head taller than me, with seemingly endless legs.

“Meet Arachnia,” Nortrom introduces this baleful-looking woman.

“You’re… Arachnia?” I narrow my eyes in confusion. I was expecting something with more than two legs.

“In her human form, obviously.”

“Pleased to meet you, Anti-Mage.” Black pupils with red centers gleam at me from under furry eyelashes, and her voice sounds like a fork scraping a burnt pot. But what disturbs me most are her shiny, black-painted fingernails. They stink of venom.

I reject the handshake, standing stiffly with my hands behind my back.

“Anti-Mage,” Nortrom instructs me. “You’ll take shifts with Arachnia to watch over the Invoker - she in the day and you at night.”

“Yes, this is a good arrangement,” the long-legged woman chirrs, clasping her black-nailed fingers. “After sundown, I’ll have to return to the forest to care for my young.”

Her eyelashes look like they might crawl away from her face any moment.

I snap my gaze away from her, searching the sterile-looking corridor. “Where is the Invoker?”

“The attendants will tend to the inmates’ basic needs,” Nortrom continues, ignoring my question. “All you need to do is supervise everything.”

“Understood,” Arachnia smiles, smoothing her hands on her dress. “I’ll take my leave now, and will be back here at dawn.”

“Thank you for your help, especially in regards to the research,” Nortrom says. “You will be duly compensated for your time.”

“My pleasure. I thought the Orchid Malevolence was one of the most beautiful things you’ve crafted, but it seems you’ve surpassed even yourself.”

“Ah, I take no credit.” Nortrom speaks casually, but his eyes betray an unmistakable pride. “It was the work of many.”

 _Will you two shut up already,_ I scowl, shifting my weight impatiently.

Arachnia bats her eyes at me before bidding farewell. As she disappears up the stairs, Nortrom turns to me with more instructions.

“Since you’re here, I’ll set off for Radinthul earlier so that I can have more time to forge alliances.”

“Go ahead. Leave everything to me.”

He nods, turning into the hallway Arachnia came from. At the end of the corridor, a mass of translucent white ropes spans between the walls. And above it, in a corner of the ceiling, hangs a sentry ward. I take a mental note of it.

Nortrom stops in front of a door labelled seven. My pulse speeds up as he unlocks and pushes the door open, revealing a dimly lit room around ten feet by ten feet.

…Carl?

That can’t possibly be him.

His proud form is sunk in one corner, head lowered and knees drawn up to his chest. His hands are tied behind him, his torso and ankles tightly bound in several layers of thin ropes that are barely visible against his thin white tunic and pants.

“The Bloodthorn Shackles, they are my latest invention,” Nortrom explains in a clinical, detached manner.

But the Silencer’s words blur to a background hum as I stare at Carl. Is he conscious? His face is partly obscured by his hair, some locks of it caught in the bindings, restricting his head movements.

Nortrom’s voice drones on beside me.

“…orchid thorns… inhibits spell-casting...”    

“You can go now,” I dismiss him through gritted teeth. “I’ll take over from here.”

But he still isn’t done talking. “These restraints should suffice, but in the improbable event that they fail, try to hold back from killing him.” And then, lowering his voice as if telling me a valuable secret. “If the need arises, simply the threat of injecting spider eggs into him will keep him tame.”

I grimace.  _Go away, Nortrom. Just go away._ It is all I can do not to yell at him. “I know what to do,” I say briskly. “Are you leaving right now?”

“Yes.” He finally hands me the keys and walks off.

The door clicks shut and I’m left alone with Carl. The space he is confined in is completely padded with some kind of soft, gray material lining the walls and the floor. Though small, it has its own privy and wash basin in one corner.

“Carl?” I call softly, taking a step towards him.

No response. There is something about the way he sits, head bent and unresisting, that tears at me inside.

“It’s me, Magina.”

This time his head makes a slight movement. I kneel down beside him, brushing aside the loose hair over his face to meet his heavy-lidded eyes.

His right shoulder is bandaged. The dressing is stained with blackish blood, giving off a whiff of that vicious woman’s fingernails. His face is pale as glass, his skin cold and clammy. It seems he’s been drained, not of mana but of blood. 

While examining his tied hands behind his back, I push his arm unthinkingly. He flinches at my touch.

“Sorry,” I mumble, jerking up my hand. Peering closer to examine the bindings, I realize what’s hurting him. Tiny thorns attached to the ropes, piercing his skin through the thin fabric of his clothing. There are at least fifty of those tiny barbs, dotting his torso with pinpricks of blood.

Bloodthorn Shackles, that was what Silencer said just now when he was blathering on and on about his latest invention. My newfound urge to punch the Silencer flares.

Stop, I command myself. Focus.

“I’m going to get these things off you,” I tell Carl in a low and steady voice. “And then we’re going to get out of here.”

I don’t care if the Silencer walks in at this moment. I want these wretched shackles off Carl right now.

He responds with only a shift of his head, his lips remaining a thin, closed line.

I hover around him, pondering over how to remove the layers of vine-like bindings coiling around him from his upper arms down to the abdomen. It would be troublesome to try to unknot them, so I’ll have to cut them.

“This might hurt a little, but I’ll make it quick.” I reach into my belt for the small handy dagger I keep for such emergencies. The blade is extremely sharp, so I’ll have to try not to nick his skin.

His face tenses, but he remains still. Even his breathing is shallow and restrained. The silence from him is really unsettling, although I know it’s imposed by the restraints. 

I wish he’d say something, anything at all. Swear at me, insult me, rant, rail. Anything’s better than this silence.

Sucking in a breath, I bring the tip of the dagger to the slight gap between his upper arm and trunk, both covered by a thin layer of clothing. I insert the blade under the rope, and with a quick twist, I slice the rope apart.

He flinches, and blood blossoms on his sleeve.

A stream of curses escapes my mouth. “Sorry,” I mutter, pressing my palm on the spot I accidentally nicked, while he looks at me with what I think is a reproachful expression.

The vines are still clinging to him, held in place by the thorns stuck in him. Pulling them all out is going to be messy business. Better fast than slow, I decide.

Pinching one end of the restraint with my fingers, I tug forcefully, unraveling the spiked rope around his chest and back. With each thorn removed, Carl hisses and cringes.

My throat tightens. I’d gladly trade places with him right now. While at Turstarkuri, I slept on nettle beds, watched my seniors lie on pine needles. All this was self-inflicted, with the goal of thickening our skins and strengthening our resistance to the elements.

But Carl…

Seeing him like this makes my insides twist, as if a knife is cutting through my kidney.

Trying not to let his distress get to me, I work on unwinding the barbed cord from chest down to ribs and abdomen, stopping only to push his hair out of the way. After each round, I make a cut and toss the broken lengths behind me.

It takes me a while before I notice the blood on my own fingers, accompanied by an uncomfortable buzz. The sting of the thorns seems to go deep under my skin, through the bones and into my soul.

After tugging off the last bit of the cursed shackles are off his torso, I let out a breath. Carl’s face is still pinched in pain. I avoid looking at it for now.

A quick wipe of my hands on my breeches, and I turn to work on his bound wrists. Pushing his sleeves out of the way, I insert the blade between his wrists, slashing the ropes apart. As the thorns biting into the exposed skin on his wrists are pulled out, he gives a particularly loud hiss.

“Last one and we’re done,” I promise him, proceeding to remove the bindings around his ankles. His bare socks offer little protection against the thorns.

At last, the ordeal is over. He’s completely free, and I can now bring myself to look at his face. There are tears in the corners of his eyes.

“Can you speak now?” I reach out to wipe the moisture from his cheek. I don’t dare to touch him anywhere else, though I notice his prick wounds have stopped bleeding.

He swallows and parts his lips, but only a hoarse croak comes out. Looking at how dry his lips are, I wonder when was the last time he drank something.

“Try to stand,” I take his arm. With my support he rises to his feet, almost swaying off balance when he tries to take a step.

As I hold him steady, he frets over his other arm, struggling to flex his fingers. I gently lift the dressing on his shoulder, examining the two large fang marks left by the Broodmother. The inflammation’s subsided, but the venom might have paralyzed his arm.

“Let’s get out of here first,” I remind him. “You should be able to work your magic now.”

Carl lifts a hand gingerly to his blood-stained shirt, knitting his brows. It’s as if he can still feel the shackles on him.

“They’re gone,” I show him the broken pieces of Bloodthorn on the ground.

After staring at them for a moment, he snaps out of his disoriented state and shifts his gaze to something behind me.

“Outside,” he says in a brittle voice. “Check everything.”

I whirl around, thinking for a panicked moment that someone has entered the room. There’s nothing. I open the door slightly and peer out.

“Wait for me here.” I slip out of the cell, making sure to lock the door with the keys Nortrom gave me.

I head to the cobwebbed corner, where a sentry ward hangs from the ceiling. Raising my knife, I slash at the threads till the entire web collapses. If I were a spider, I’d be able to reach the ward, but I can only crane my neck up at it, hands on hips.  

An attendant approaches with a trolley, pausing outside the door to Carl’s cell.

“Stop! Don’t go in!” I call out to her. There’s a tray on the trolley and it looks like food. How fucking kind of Nortrom to feed his prisoners after torturing them.

The attendant turns to me and squints her eyes in puzzlement.

“It’s too dangerous,” I blab out whatever comes to my mind, gesturing at the locked door. “I’ll take care of this. Go up and have a rest.” I grab her trolley and dismiss her with a wave.

She looks lost, but also visibly grateful. “Thank you, sir,” she says and turns towards the stairway.

So far so good. No one’s hurt yet.

Alone in the empty hallway, I roll the trolley all the way to the corner, right under the sentry ward. Everything needs to be accomplished within three seconds. Blink, grab the ward off the wall, down on the floor, drop the device behind the broken cobweb.

I continue combing the exit route for more invisibility-detection devices. Satisfied that there’s none, I proceed up the stairs to the main hall.

At the foyer, I shoot a glance at the closed door of Nortrom’s office. The two guards sitting at the reception are playing a card game with each other, oblivious to their surroundings.

I walk up to the nincompoops and rap on their table. “Has the Silencer gone?”

Their heads jerk up. “Uh, yes, just a minute ago.”

No wonder they’re so relaxed now. I head to the front double doors, pushing them open.

Outside, a crisp, clear night envelopes the estate’s grounds. Slardar is patrolling the front barred gates, his scalic armor reflecting the moonlight. There isn’t a back gate. The rest of the building is enclosed by high walls topped with iron spikes.  

After a quick survey of the surroundings, I hurry back to the basement prison. It is still quiet as before, the trolley’s where I left it, and no attendants are around.

When I return to Carl’s cell, I find him encircled by a nimbus of blue. A cool mist swirls around his fingers as he administers a soothing touch to his own wounds. He still looks rather weak, but some of the color has returned to his face.

“That woman – that spider is gone,” I inform him. “And I’ve gotten rid of the sentry ward. Try turning invisible now.”  

Inhaling with a slight tremble, he furrows his brows in concentration while the Quas and Wex reagents swirl around him idly. He seems to be taking him more effort than usual.

“It’s not working.” He rakes his fingers through his disheveled hair. “I can’t invoke.” 

“Try again.”

The next attempt fails. He paces the cell, clutching his head in frustration. “It’s this room,” he grumbles. It’s no surprise that Nortrom would place him in a cell with the strongest concentration of that anti-magic material.

“Try it outside.” Holding his arm, I help him out of the cell to the corridor, where he slinks into the shadowy corner with the broken cobweb. It takes him three more attempts before he manages to flicker out of sight.  

Though I hate to admit it, it is a huge relief to see him able to use magic.

As we make our way to the stairs, an attendant comes our way.  

“My, it’s freezing in here,” she remarks, rubbing her arms as she passes by, unsuspecting. Glancing back, I can sense Carl's incorporeal form moving sluggishly behind me as I climb up the stairs.

“Hang in there,” I whisper to him.

At the foyer, Carl’s barely advanced two feet when a device at the corner of the ceiling flashes, throwing a beam of blue light at him and illuminating his outline. He pauses, looking a bit shaken.

The two guards are still at their card game, but now one of them snaps his head up at Carl with a shocked expression and nudges his partner.

No chance for them. I blink behind the guards, grab their heads and bang them together. They slump over their desks, unconscious.

 _What have I just done?_ I stare at my fists in dismay. Smuggling out a Tyler Estate prisoner, hurting innocent guards, what would Nortrom say?

But right now, getting Carl out of here is paramount. I dart my gaze around the foyer. Besides the guards I’ve knocked out, there is no one else around.

“Go now.” I lead the way by moving to the front doors at top speed.   

Carl gathers himself and drifts over to me. I push open the front double doors to let him out. Once outside, he disappears into thin air again. Thankfully, there are no more invisibility-detection devices outside the building. Slardar is at his usual position at the gates, his muscled, sinuous frame slithering back and forth. At the other end stands a human guard.  I’m not worried about the human, but I’m wary about the Slithereen. His eyes are accustomed to darkness as he hails from the depths of the sea.

“I’ll distract him, and you get out,” I whisper to Carl. “Down the hill, wait for me there.”

My muscles tense up as I walk up to Slardar. I’m no good at fabricating stories, so I decide to tell him the truth.

“The Invoker’s missing from his cell.”

The Slithereen elite guard pivots around, narrowing his ferocious red eyes. I stare unflinchingly at his jaws full of sharp teeth, flaring webbed gills, and that huge spiked mace that can smash lesser foes into a pulp.

“How is that possible?” he asks gruffly.

I shrug. “I, um, need your help in there. He’s managed to avoid invisibility detection.”

As I speak, I imagine Carl’s ghostly form phasing through the bars of the front gates.

“Not with a good dose of Corrosive Haze,” Slardar growls, his tail whipping about as he glides ahead of me towards the building.

He is so fast that I can only catch up with him by blinking. Inside the hall, the first thing he sees is the guards at the reception, their faces pressed against the table, beginning to stir.  

“Sleeping on the job, eh?” Slardar slams the table, sending a shower of brine onto the guards’ bewildered faces.

I’m not sure how intelligent deep-sea creatures are, but I venture to divert him further.

“I suggest you go down to the prisons and dust the area there. I’ll keep watch here.”

With a grunt, the Slithereen moves towards the stairway with his characteristic efficiency. I wait for him to vanish down the stairs before I sneak out of the building towards the gates, blinking past them.   

I rush down the steps, tossing intermittent, furtive backward glances. Thankfully, no one’s after me. At the bottom of the hill, I’m relieved to meet the familiar frigid breeze, tingling with static. But Carl’s movement is slowing into a crawl, and I know he isn’t holding up well. Indeed, he almost falls over when he turns solid. I drape his arm over my shoulder and let him lean against me.

Just north of us lies the open sea, with a number of vessels docked at the pier. Escaping by sea would be more viable than land travel, as it would take half a day to get to the town portal, and there aren’t many suitable hiding places in Ultimyr. Forests are definitely out of the question, since the Broodmother could be lurking in any of them.

It’s still deep in the night, darkness shrouding us like a blanket as we traverse along a wooded path leading to the pier, guided by the swish of waves in the distance and the smell of brine in the air. It smells just like Slardar.

Carl stops to rest, sinking down against a tree. The chilly wind tosses his hair about and he wraps his arms around himself. I suddenly realize he’s fled in nothing but his flimsy, torn robes and socks.

A flame flickers in his hand, but he changes his mind and snuffs it out. Any fire, even a small one, would attract unwanted attention.

I sit down cross-legged beside him.

“Are you still hurting?” I take his hand, feeling his cold, delicate fingers. Pushing back his sleeve a little, I can see that his wrist is no longer raw and bleeding. His wounds seem to be healing the way they always do – cleanly and completely.

“Not as much.”

“Why did you stray from me at the forest? If you stayed close to me-“

His head tilts back, eyes fluttering in a gesture that looks like it could be an eye-roll. “Do you think I’m a damsel in need of your protection?”

“Well… no. That’s not what I meant.”

He casts his gaze at the horizon. Ahead of us is a wooden bridge leading to the docks. I know that there are several islands nearby, but I’m not sure about their names. Carl would know. Our goal right now is to get on board one of the vessels.

“Let’s see. How much gold have you got?” He suddenly turns to me, his tone more of a challenge than a question.

“Hmm.” I fish out whatever I have from my pouch and pockets, which amounts to about a hundred gold pieces. “This should be sufficient for our travel. A cabin wouldn’t cost more than eight gold per day. A hammock, even less.”

“Pfft,” he scoffs and turns his face away.

I’m about to tell him that fugitives can’t be choosers, but my eyes widen as he slides his fingers into his sleeve. What could possibly be inside? I’d have thought Nortrom would have stripped him of all his money and belongings before locking him up.

“It’s one of the oldest magics, yet Nortrom missed it while he was busy tying me up and silencing me,” Carl lets out a self-congratulatory smirk as he retrieves a gold piece concealed in his clothing. And then he draws another one, and another. I’m unable to hide my fascination as I watch him produce an endless supply of gold pieces from his pockets. The whole thing looks just like, well, magic. 

But the real surprise comes at the end of the show, when he pulls out a chunky, shiny yellow medallion. He shoves it into my hand, and I am amazed at how weighty it feels in my palm.

“A rare trinket, worth a thousand gold,” he says. “Enough to hire the smallest boat, along with the entire crew.”

“You’re talking about the entire boat?”

“Yes. I will not have my peace and rest disturbed by boorish merchants, empty-headed nobles, stinking soldiers and all manner of riff-raff.”

I can’t help the amused snort that escapes me. Carl’s back to his usual snobbish self, and for the first time, it makes me glad.

“Let’s get going.” I nod towards the rows of fishing boats and passenger ships bobbing gently up and down the shimmering moonlit waters. We can’t afford to dally. The sea is Slardar’s element, if he manages to figure out we’re here, it would take him no time to catch up with us even if we’re on a sailboat.

But walking further on, I notice a guard positioned at the end of the wooden bridge leading to the pier. It is yet another Slithereen. The bridge is wide enough, but given the deep-sea dweller’s sharp vision, this one might be able to detect Carl’s tracks.

A frown crosses my brow. If this were the battlefield, things would be straightforward. But it isn’t.

“We need to stay low key,” I remind Carl. “No hurting of innocents, no burning of things.”

“That’s achievable, if you distract that guard while I slip past.” His figure merges into the darkness.

“I’ll try.”

As I step on the bridge, I glance up at the various boats to find a suitable one. There are no passengers boarding them, but some crew are on the decks, probably on overnight watch. 

The guard is of a smaller stature than Slardar, but looks deadly serious in his duties. Regarding me cautiously, he produces a scroll and checks my face against a few portraits.

Snarling impatiently, I raise my voice and fists in exaggerated indignation. “I’m the Anti-Mage. I work for the Tyler Estate. It’s insulting that you would even consider me to possibly be a runaway mage.”

The guard cocks his head, not quite knowing what to make of my outburst.

In case this isn’t enough to hold his attention, I lower my eyes, whispering the inscription that links me to the Blades of Yoskreth. The guard steps back in alarm at the sight of the massive gleaming blades, their edges crackling with energy.

The commotion has attracted the attention of a tall, bearded man, striding over to us from the pier. He looks like he might be the captain of one of the boats.

“What’s going on? Who are you?”

“I am the Anti-Mage, working for the Tyler Estate.” I repeat. “I’m on an urgent mission to the northern islands.”

“We don’t start sailing till dawn.”

I hand him the gold medallion. “Will this do, Captain? I want the whole boat to myself.”

Raising his brows with interest, the sailor weighs the substantial slab of metal in his palm, scrutinizing its intricate engravings. And then his attitude changes.

“This way, sir.”

As I follow him across the gangplank towards the anchored rowboat, I sneak a glance back at Carl’s footprints behind me, imagining the smirk on his face.

 

 

 

 


	8. Escape by Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Updates: edits to Invoker's name(s) in every chapter  
> 2) White Spire is a location in Dota Underlords (Valve's auto-chess game)

 

* * *

 

Stepping onto the foredeck of the boat, I flick back a glance to make sure that Carl is with us safely in his invisible form. The crew is busy working the sails, and nobody’s noticed or suspected his presence, although there is a palpable drop in temperature. Taking no chances, I try my best to distract the captain beside me. Clearing my throat, I fix him an inquiring look.

“Thank you, Captain…”

“Gavin,” he introduces himself with a bearded smile, the lines on his sunburned face deepening. “Welcome aboard the Emerald _._ ” The man is tall and brawny with graying brown hair. Many captains grow fat and lazy once they no longer have to do physical labor and only need to command in name, but not this one. Both his tattooed arms bear scars, I suppose from altercations during a lifetime spent at sea.  

“There are four cabins, and there’s the kitchen. Half the crew are asleep in their quarters,” he explains as he shows me around the boat, guided by light from lanterns hanging at the sides. For a modest-sized vessel, the interior is surprisingly spacious. He goes on to introduce the pilot and oarsmen, but it hardly registers. Half my mind is on Carl, how he is holding up and whether Slardar will catch up with us.

“I’d like a cabin in a private area, undisturbed,” I request.

The captain nods. “There’s one at the back, below deck.” He directs me down the stairs to a large chamber which is clearly furnished for a party or family of four, with its own attached bath. The beds are laid out in a row with a night table in between, and at the head of each is a cupboard with a key hanging out.

“Looks comfortable enough,” I remark, surveying the dark wooden paneling and colorful porthole windows.

“Until you feel the effects of the rough seas and stormy weather,” the captain chuckles.

“I’ll be fine,” I shrug, recalling my last sea voyage to the prison island housing my brother. Despite the troubled journey, I was never affected by seasickness. “How long will it take to reach the Northern Islands?” I ask, following him up to the main deck. I also notice that Carl is no longer with me. He must have stayed back in the cabin.

“It could be anything from five days to two weeks, depending on the weather and the sea. Sailing at night is much riskier. We’ll have to go slow as we can’t see approaching gusts and squalls in the dark.”

“I trust that you’ll take us safely across these waters, Captain.”

Once unmoored, the Emerald begins to glide gently away from the pier over the smooth waters, and my tension subsides.  The sea gleams like polished silver, reflecting the multitude of stars. As the shore recedes from my sight, I begin to realize how insignificant I am, bobbing up and down in an upturned bowl swallowed up by the neverending expanse of black water.

I make my way down to my cabin, passing by the kitchen and a dim, empty room with round tables that looks like the dining area. The vessel seems large, I realize because there aren’t other passengers around. It feels tranquil, even deserted in the night.

Carl isn’t inside. Wondering where he could have gone, I climb up the stairs leading to the back deck. I’m briefly startled to find him standing on the deck facing the sea, his white robes flapping in the wind. His arms are outstretched and gesturing broadly in the air.

“Carl? What are you doing?” I call out in a low voice tinged with urgency. I hope he isn’t trying to target the Tyler Estate with a Sunstrike.

The absence of fire energies around him dispels this idea. He doesn’t respond to me, gaze pinned to an invisible horizon as he concentrates on his invocation. After a moment, his shoulders relax and he whirls around. There are fading traces of violet around his hands.

“You’ll know,” he grins coyly.

“It’s cold. Get back in there,” I chide him sternly as if talking to a child. Keeping a low profile really isn’t one of his strengths. “And don’t attract unnecessary attention.”

He responds with an upturned nose, breezing past me and back down the stairs. Instead of going with him, I decide to find out more about our destination from the captain. Our ship seems to be picking up speed now, the sails billowing, the masts creaking slightly as they take the strain.  

I climb the ladder to the highest deck and as I enter the cockpit, the captain turns to me and comments in a jovial tone.

“The winds weren’t quite right at the start, but now it looks like the gods are favoring us.”

“I see.” Noticing a map laid out on the table, I take a closer look at it.

“These are the Claddish Islands,” he points at the map. “Here’s the Isle of Songs, the Trembling Isles… and this one is the Island of White Spire,” he says the last name with emphasis. “I suppose you’re heading there, if you’re after a criminal.”

I nod vaguely, unwilling to reveal the fact that I know nothing about what he’s talking about.  

Heading back to my cabin, I descend the stairs and find Carl lounged on the bed, propped against the headboard with a blanket drawn up to his chest. Under the soft glow of the lantern, he’s never looked more ethereal, with his silvery-gold hair cascading over his white-clad shoulders.

“Was it you?” I ask him. “Did you do something to the winds?”

He folds his arms, beaming. “Impressive, am I not?”

“No.”

He exhales a resigned huff. “As I thought.”

“Well, you know me.”

The ground sways mildly under my feet as I walk towards him and settle down on the side of his bed. I hope the weather stays pleasant, as I don’t think he is powerful enough to stop an approaching storm.

I look at him. “Do you know anything about the White Spire?”

A flash of amusement crosses his face. “It’s a most interesting island-town. A haven for crooks, with loose morals and colorful residents, and it’s presently in complete chaos.”

“We’re not going there, are we?”

“As the adage goes, the most dangerous place is the safest place. So, yes, the White Spire would be an excellent location to hide from the Tyler Estate.”

My brows knot involuntarily as I am reminded of what I’ve done and how I am now a fugitive of the anti-magic organization I was working for.  And yet Carl’s face is still insufferably serene.

I reach for his shoulder, checking under his shirt for Arachnia’s bite mark. The wound is completely gone without leaving a single blemish on his smooth skin.

He clutches my wrist. At his touch, as always, the surroundings blur into insignificance. And there is the familiar pull again, not of magic but of my own irrational urge. This urge drives me to lean over and plant a kiss on his forehead.

“Carl. I will never let anyone hurt you again,” I murmur, threading my fingers through his slightly mussed but still silky fine locks. “You are mine. I won’t let anyone touch you.”

I expect an indignant retort from him, but he remains still and quiet under my caress, content to listen to the gibberish tumbling out of my mouth. Like the winds, he is difficult to predict. But I dare say I am finally beginning to grasp who he is. While the majority of people are awe-struck by his deity-like abilities, I see him differently.

My lips travel to the tip of his ear peeking out from his hair, grazing the delicate earlobe. This brings a sigh and a shudder from him. I draw back slightly to observe the intoxicated look on his face.

To me, he is a vulnerable man, with his hopeless addiction to magic, his addiction to the power that comes with messing with the forces of nature, and his constant urge to put his life on the edge after centuries of boredom and being unchallenged. And it is that same desire to feel alive by flirting with death that drives him to me. Because I, the Anti-Mage, represent the greatest threat to his existence.

My movements grow bolder. As though propelled by an unknown force, I begin to nibble at his ear, sinking my teeth into it.

He flinches. “Now _you’re_ hurting me,” he snaps.

“Sorry.”

“You’re the one who needs me, fool. You know nothing about where we’re heading to.”

He goes on mumbling something I can’t quite make out. Probably heaping more insults on me. Actually, he isn’t wrong, considering how spectacularly I’ve failed in just about everything. I failed the Tyler Estate by letting Mireska escape, by smuggling their prisoner out and beating up their guards in the process. I failed Carl – none of this would have happened if he didn’t join me in my pursuit of Necrophos. It was because of me that he suffered under the hands of the Silencer and the Broodmother. I hurt him even when I was freeing him from the Bloodthorn restraints.

“Yes, I’m a fool, and a failure,” I admit in a low voice. “Nortrom’s right, I’m no good at anything other than bashing the skulls of mages. And even in that respect, I’m painfully aware that I have failed, because now I’m on the run with the Arsenal Magus and even pledged to be his protector. Indeed, I have become a joke unto myself.”

Carl opens his eyes, fixing his luminescent gaze on me. “Still refusing to face the truth, Magina? Still denying what is plain and obvious?” His voice rises compellingly as he grasps my face in his hands. “You failed in your job not because you’re a failure, but because of _me_. Admit it. You’re in love with me.”

_Love?_

My breath catches in my throat as invisible claws close around my insides at the mention of this strange, horrifying word. We learned at Turstarkuri that attachment brings nothing but misery.

“I don’t know about that.” I force myself away from his gaze, a stew of conflicting emotions bubbling up inside me. “All I can say is… I don’t hate you anymore.”

“Well, that’s an improvement,” he says caustically, leaning back against the headboard without a further word. I stare dumbly at his hardened face, wondering in what way I’ve angered him and what to say next. His features seem to be carved out of ice, sharp and angled and inhumanly beautiful. I will never tell him that, of course.

But soon the ice melts, his face softens as he parts his lips.

“You’re different,” he murmurs, eyes still closed. “I knew it the moment I met you at the war. I made up my mind then.”

“Hmm. I’m different? From who?”

“Them.”

“Who’s them?”

“Rubick. Nortrom.”

My stomach clenches in distaste at the idea of being associated with those two men. For a moment I recall Carl’s memoirs and books about magic lining the shelves of Nortrom’s office, including the one that has a chapter written about me.

“They’re using your books.” 

“Of course,” he makes a sound of disdain. “They know nothing but to steal knowledge from me.” 

“Rubick’s written a thousand-page book about you.” I try unsuccessfully to sound neutral.

“A thousand pages is trifling,” he retorts, his voice trembling slightly with suppressed emotion. He seems to be holding back something.

“The Grand Magus knows you well, huh?” I press on despite knowing my questions are pushing him closer to the edge.

I know I’ve succeeded, and yet I regret what I’ve done, because Carl‘s expression now is something I’ve never seen before. His eyes are clouded over and his lips pursed in bitterness.

“Rubick betrayed me,” he mutters. I see a fleeting shadow of past wounds.

My hand tightens around his fingers. I want to ask him for the details, but I stop myself, changing the topic instead.

“How about Nortrom, then?”

A dry laugh escapes him. “Nortrom. He is bitter about what he can’t have.”

“The man’s sick in the head.” I recall the Silencer’s enjoyment in torturing mages and his dedication to the research which he tests on the Tyler Estate’s inmates.

Carl’s face darkens a shade. “Nortrom is what he is because of how he was treated at Aeol Drias. His teachers, they did everything to realize his potential to be the greatest mage to walk the earth. They burned him with fire, hoping to awaken the elemental powers they thought lay dormant within him.”

Taking a breath, Carl continues. “But no. Nortrom did not produce a single flame, nor did he produce any ice to quench the fire. He simply burned.”

I shake my head as the tortured past of the Silencer unfolds.

“The scars he carries remind him of how much he hates individuals like me,” Carl concludes.

So Nortrom is broken and scarred, like me, but in a different way. “What about Rubick?” I venture again.

Carl takes my question calmly this time, his expression fading into a faraway look. “Rubick’s never been quite able to live up to his father’s name, no matter how hard he tries. And so he resorts to stealing from others. For a time he appeared to be obsessed with me. He got close to me, wrote a book about me and drew paintings of me. He tried to charm me with his flattery, but I knew he’s after the Sempiternal Cantrap. I’ve deliberately hidden it in the recesses of my memory to prevent him from accessing it.”

“Sempiternal Cantrap…?” I ponder, hazarding a guess at the nature of the spell from its name.

“The longevity spell I cast on myself.”

“Ah.” As I guessed. After all, the word ‘sempiternal’ means eternal. I utter a low, vexed sigh. Learning about Rubick’s  nature as a devious creep is in a sense comforting, yet disturbing.  “I never expected the Tyler Estate to be so complicated.”

Shifting his position to a more comfortable one on the bed, Carl lifts a hand to my cheek, stroking me with his thumb. “The world is more complicated than what you learn from a cloister of monks. You’re Anti-Mage, you join an organization that opposes magic and you rid the world of evil. Did you think it’s that simple?”

“Well…”

His long fingers move to trace my jawline. “But I know you’ll never betray me,” he speaks with finality.

My mind goes blank. “I… I am not interested in any longevity spell. Immortality is a curse.”

Carl lets his hand drop with a wistful half-smile. “I knew you’d say that.”

He seems slightly drowsy, probably lulled by the swishing of waves outside and the gentle rocking of the boat. Above, the lantern sways from the low ceiling.

“Sleep now,” I tell him, pulling the blanket over his shoulders. It’s been a long, eventful day culminating in the escape from Tyler Estate. Yet, instead of resting, he’s expended much energy again maneuvering the wind direction.

He eases himself lower in the bed and nestles his head against my arm. Contented with this position, his eyes flutter shut, pale lashes fanning out against even paler cheeks.

This isn’t the first time I’ve seen this raw and unguarded side of him, but it is the first time I am able to contemplate on his face without heed to the passing of time, without a care for the ongoings around me.

Because of him, my mind no longer has room for the memories of Turstarkuri that used to haunt me every night. They have all but crumbled into fragments of broken, disjointed images.

I’ve never tried meditating with my eyes open while holding a quiet vigil over a slumbering person. But I can’t afford to wake up to find him gone again. And so I fight my own fatigue and resist the lull of sleep as the night creeps on, focusing on the steady rhythm of his breathing and the rise and fall of his chest. Nothing else matters in a world that consists of only the two of us, surrounded by the vast, endless ocean.

 

 

 


	9. The Gift of Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1) Invoker’s Child Persona arrives
> 
> 2) Turath is a non-playable character from Dota Underlords

 

* * *

 

Distant sounds of shouting invade my consciousness, stirring me awake. I rub my face, finding myself in a sitting position next to Carl’s bed. He is still asleep, one cheek pressed into the pillow and loose hair flowing over the blanket covering him.

“Carl,” I shake his arm lightly to wake him, only to be answered by a stifled groan.

“Get your filthy hands off me,” he mutters unconsciously, fingers clutching and clawing at the sheets. His brows are furrowed, breathing slightly irregular, as if he is in the throes of an unpleasant dream. “How dare you, Nortrom… you… I’ll make you regret this… I’ll bring down the wrath of the cosmos on you…”

“I am not Nortrom.” I direct the words loudly and clearly into his ear. “Get up now. The ship’s in trouble.”

When this doesn’t work, I grab his blanket and rip it off. This succeeds in pulling him out of his slumber. He bolts upright on the bed, bright eyes flashing, lips poised to curse at me.

Just then, a tremendous bump shakes me from my balance. It’s as if something’s collided with our ship.

“What is this ruckus?” Carl growls, raking a hand through his mussed hair as he takes a moment to make out his surroundings and the shouts drifting in from outside.

“Stay here. I’ll take a look outside.” Before he can respond, I rush out of the cabin in search of the source of the commotion. It is still deep in the night, and the yells are mingled with loud thumping and clashing of metal. I arrive at the foredeck just in time to see a man falling overboard into the sea, followed by another.  

 _We’re being attacked by pirates._ My mind whirls and my eyes strain in the darkness to assess the situation. With my limited experience in sea travel, I’ve never had to do battle at sea, and am unsure of what to expect of our enemies.

Summoning my crescent blades in my hands, I look up to find a tattered flag emblazoned with a skull and crossbones, rippling ominously in the wind. Grappling hooks are being tossed over to pull our ship closer to theirs, and the pirates are swinging on board on ropes.

Meanwhile our crew struggles to cut off the ropes and to fend off the attackers at the same time. Masked and armored, wielding swords, cutlasses and axes, the sea bandits that are charging at us look bigger and more savage than the average man.

I spot our captain fighting off one them with a polearm. He is valiant and skilled in combat, managing to disarm the thug. From the distance a trail of orange whizzes towards him, and I quickly blink over to push him away from what seems to be a magical attack. A firebolt slams into me but is instantly deflected by my shield.

“Watch out, they have a mage!” Someone near me shouts, the panic in his voice undeniable. I turn around to find a limping, wounded oarsman, his clothes torn and bloodied.

“I’ll deal with him,” I assure the sailor. To my left, a pirate lunges at me clumsily with an axe. His arm is quickly severed in a flash of silver. Another one has his neck slashed once he comes into proximity. I swing my blades furiously, cutting a path through the enemies in lightning speed, allowing the momentum to propel me forward in my hunt for the caster. Mages must always be taken down first.

Finally, I notice him - a hooded figure huddled at the edge of the deck behind the towering bandits. My shield glows around me as I prepare to blink towards my quarry, but beyond, more pirates are dropping hooked planks over and swarming on board.

Behind me comes a low, somewhat familiar humming, a rumbling that sounds like the beginnings of a tornado. Some of our men have also heard it and are looking confused. But I know what it is.

“Duck!” I shout at them. “And hold on tight!”

The whirlwind whistles past me, almost knocking me off my feet and sweeping the incoming pirates up in the air. For the next few seconds they are caught helplessly spinning in a swirling vortex of dust, arms and legs flailing, before plunging into their watery graves. The pirates who have just landed on our deck now appear to hesitate. They were expecting an easy invasion of a small boat with a dozen or so lightly armed sailors, but they clearly weren’t prepared for this tornado that seemingly came out of nowhere.

That moment of uncertainty is marked by a brief silence, like the calm before a storm. And then a deafening roar shakes the deck as a massive wave of energy ripples through the night sky, crashing into the pirates remaining on the deck. Bodies are flung over the side, splashing into the murky depths of the sea.

“Cut the grappling ropes!” Captain Gavin calls, and our men swing their axes at the ropes fastened to the pirate ship, severing them.

As the ships begin to drift apart, I turn around to see Carl focused in his invoking, his white robes flickering with the shifting colors of his orbs. He looks rather subdued, even ghostlike without his usual extravagant getup.

Another pause, and then a loud boom as a small fire ignites in the middle of the pirate ship. Now the panic this causes is plain and clear. Orders to retreat are being shouted as the enemy vessel attempts to hastily slink back into the shadows. The skull-and-crossbones flag is now replaced by a white flag.

All eyes are on Carl now, the wonder and awe palpable in the air. With the exception of a few of our crew who are busy making repairs to the parts of the ship damaged by the pirates, all are dumbfounded at the sudden twist of events, at the mage on our side who seemingly appeared out of nowhere and repelled an entire pirate ship.

I’ll have to explain all that to them later. Right now, my eyes are on that one hooded figure huddled at the edge of our deck. Somehow, the pirate-mage who launched the firebolts managed to survive the elemental onslaught. He crouches there, tenaciously clinging on to the wooden railing.

Appearing in front of the wizard, my blade flies out but is blocked by some kind of invisible barrier, likely an invulnerability spell.

Well, it isn’t going to last much longer. When he runs out of mana, nothing can save him. My hand shoots out and grasps him by the throat, and at the same time an explosion goes off in his face, sending white sparks flying in all directions. It sends him quaking, and then he seems to recover his composure remarkably fast. Phosphorescent-green eyes glow under his dark hood, bringing to mind a cat. His age is close to Necrophos’, maybe older, and I can’t quite identify the type of magic he specializes in.

As the last crackle of static fades from the air, the wizard’s eyes widen, not at me but at the person behind me.

“No… no it can’t be…” his withered voice trembles with reverence. “Such power, such magnificence… such unparalleled perfection! Could it be… the one and only… _Arsenal Magus_?”

I cringe a little inwardly as I picture Carl behind me lapping up the flattery like a cat with cream. But my eyes are not leaving this devious pirate-mage. Although most of his mana pool has been vaporized by Carl’s electromagnetic blast, I can’t let my guard down. I suspect he is capable of more than those pathetic firebolts.

Having made the grand entrance he’s been waiting to make, Carl’s voice brims with satisfaction.

“Consider yourself privileged to behold _me_ , before you breathe your last.”

Unflinching, the hooded mage continues, his voice awash with adulation. “Oh, great and illustrious Invoker! I beseech you to spare my life! You will not regret showing me mercy, I promise you this!”

My grip on him tightens. “I’m the one holding you by the neck, dog,” I glare at him. “Give me a good reason not to kill you. By the count of five, or you’ll be thrown into the sea like the others.”

Those luminous green eyes remain steadily fixed beyond me, ignoring me completely.

“I have something you’ll be interested in, mighty Invoker.”

In response, Carl makes a small noise of contempt. “What can you possibly give me that I don’t already have?”

The wizard smiles, with his lips only. “Certainly, you lack nothing, Invoker. Be it riches, good looks, power or talent, you have it all. You have survived for eons, you’ve existed since the beginning of time. There is nothing you have not seen or experienced, nothing escapes your knowledge. Yet, I’d confidently say there is just that _one_ thing that is out of your grasp.”

I turn back for a split second to see Carl with a tight expression on his face.

“And that thing is,” the wizard gestures patiently as he explains, “ _innocence_.”

Instead of dismissing him, Carl falls into an unsettling quiet, as if contemplating what has been said. After musing for a few moments, he asks in a low voice.

“Who are you?”

“I am Turath, a seer of the future and manipulator of the past. In exchange for sparing my life, I offer you the precious gift of innocence. I can bring you back to a time long, long forgotten…a time where you knew nothing of the evils of the world, a time where you were truly _happy_. Do you remember what it was like to experience something for the first time? How it was like to invoke your very first spell? Now, wouldn’t that be refreshing for that world-weary soul of yours?”

Exactly what does this slimy bastard have up his sleeves, I wonder. Every word that comes out of his mouth makes my blood bubble.

“No tricks from you,” I warn him, squeezing his neck tighter and sensing the weak threads of mana winding through him. “I’ll squish you like a bug.”

“Let go of him, Magina,” Carl interjects. I turn around, noting the intent expression on his face. He can’t be seriously considering that barrage of grand-sounding gibberish that doesn’t even make sense.

Even as my mind resists, my hand loosens its grip. I heave a frustrated sigh.

“Thank you for your kindness,” Turath breathes out in relief, eyes darting between me, Carl and the sailors watching the spectacle. “No tricks, I swear. As a magus unrivalled in his knowledge and wisdom, surely you can discern that I am genuine in my offer. I only request that we move to a more private location for this little experiment.”

Carl gives a sporting nod, gesturing to our right. Resigned to the fact that his mind is set, I reach out and roughly grab the damned wizard’s arm, escorting him off the deck towards the direction of our cabin. I refuse to let go of him even within the cabin.

“Let him do his thing,” Carl tells me.

Resisting the urge to retort, I shift a few steps back, crossing my arms skeptically. The wizard wastes no time on further talk. He whips out a small gray tome from his robes, holds it aloft and whispers an incantation. A tiny point of light winks into view above us, swirling and growing in size, twisting with powerful magical currents. The blinding vortex of light forces me to raise a hand to shield my eyes.

“Follow me, Invoker.” The voice that previously sounded frail has suddenly turned compellingly resonant. “When the spell is complete, the past and present will be merged. The present Invoker will be frozen in time, and the Invoker of the past summoned to this location.”

My jaw drops at this utterly horrifying proposition, the vilest sorcery I have ever heard in my life.

“Wait!” I raise my hand. “Is this … is this going to be permanent?”

“The spell lasts forty-nine days,” the wizard assures me. “At the end of this period, things will return to normal.”

Forty-nine days isn’t that bad. But my mind continues to run through all the possibilities for disaster. “But what if this… this young Carl dies?”

“If he dies, the spell is broken. No harm will be done.”

I shake my head adamantly. This can’t be as simple and innocuous as it sounds. “Don’t do it, Carl,” I try in vain to make one last attempt to dissuade him, even as I see from his face that he is entirely sold.

Nothing I say or do can stop them. I can only watch helplessly as the two figures melt into the light.

Only the portal remains.

Feeling slightly dizzy, I squint at the arc of light, my heart thumping with anticipation. It’s somewhat akin to how a man feels as he awaits the birth of his first child, but for me there is much more trepidation than excitement. As the minutes tick past, dread begins to grow and I fervently hope and wish that it’s all a joke.

Finally, I have to tear my eyes away from the portal as the brightness is giving me a headache. Rubbing my temples, I head out of the door to take a look outside the cabin. Spotting Captain Gavin, I walk up to him.

“How is everything, sir?" I ask him. "How are our men?”

“We lost two,” he says. “The rest of the injured ones are being treated by the ship’s surgeon. Good thing there’s no major damage done to the ship, so we can continue sailing for a while, but we'll need to dock at a nearby island for repairs.” And as expected, he gives me a questioning look. “Where did that powerful… magus come from?” 

“I was the one who brought him in,” I confess. “I’m sorry, I didn’t tell you this beforehand. I owe you an explanation.”

“Well, he saved us,” the captain laughs.

I shrug. “Let me know if you need my help.”

“We’re fine for now,” he gives me a pat on my shoulder and goes back to his crew.

On my way back to the cabin, I try not to imagine what I’ll find there. But with every step I take down the stairs, I begin to regret not killing Turath immediately. Why did I hesitate? What the hell was I thinking about? Had I been more decisive, this nonsense wouldn’t have happened. Carl would still be with me. Pissed off, undoubtedly, but still here.

But when I open the door, what I see makes me freeze on the spot.

It’s happened. He’s there.

Standing in the middle of the room, in place of where the portal was, is a boy about half my height, dressed in elaborate long-sleeved robes with a fuchsia-pink collar and a huge yellow bow. Lightly freckled face, wavy chin-length hair like corn silk. Moon-like eyes wide with astonishment, his gaze darts between me and the surroundings, and he exclaims in the typical high-pitched voice of a prepubescent boy.

“Whoaww!”

I watch tight-lipped at the boy bouncing on his toes in excitement. My gaze involuntarily fixes on a stray tuft of yellow hair sticking up from his head.

Maybe it’s not Carl. Maybe it’s an illusion, a trick. But there he is, standing there in flesh and blood, looking very real, even smelling vaguely familiar. Maybe it’s just a child who looks like him. With the dark arts, anything is possible.  

The wizard did say that once this young Carl dies, the spell ends. So, one of my options is to simply kill him.

But…

“Yes, it worked!” the boy shouts, pumping a fist jubilantly in the air. “I knew that portal would work!”

A grin flashes across his round face and a dimple appears, buried in the baby fat of his right cheek. It’s that same dimple.

No, it’s not the same. I wouldn’t say it has that same magnetizing effect on me now. Of course, I’m no pervert. I don’t feel the same attraction towards a child as I would towards an adult. This, added to the fact that I have never liked young children. I wouldn’t even describe this one as adorable.   

Arms folded, I glance down at him. “Do you know where you are, little boy?”

He scratches his head a little, then swings his gaze at the surroundings. Noticing the porthole, he runs to it, peers out of the window.

“Wow! I’m in the middle of the sea!”

I step closer to him. “Where did you come from?”

He whirls around and chuckles softly. “Shh, don’t tell anyone. I snuck into my headmaster’s room and fiddled with a portal spell.” And then, as if suddenly registering my presence, he tilts his head up and blinks twice at me. “Who are _you_?”

“Well…”

“Funny purple man. Why do you have paint on your face? I’ve never seen anyone like you. Are you from somewhere far away?”

I huff out a sigh. No matter how mentally prepared, I can still feel my heart sinking down all the way to my feet. “Why are you doing this to me, Carl?” I mutter under my breath.

He gasps. “How did you know my name?”

“Well,” I swallow and pause, trying to come up with a plausible-sounding story. “I am your guardian, your protector of sorts.”

“But how did you know I’m gonna be here?”

“Hmm. It’s complicated.” I sit down on the bed to lessen the height difference between us, keeping my eyes steadily on his bright round ones. There is no need to lie to him about my identity, yet, telling him the truth doesn’t seem to be a good idea either. “I’m somebody you’ll get to know, a thousand years later.”

“A thousand years?” Little Carl drops his jaws in fascination, pointing at himself. “Me? A thousand years old?”

I nod slowly, but before I can get in a further word, he’s running around the cabin, opening and closing the cupboards and venturing into the bathroom. After finishing his short tour of the room, he concludes with a pout. “It’s boring here.”

“Where are your parents?” I ask him.

“They’re busy with very important matters,” he says, puffing up his chest. Going by his attire, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s from some sort of nobility, or even royalty. “I suppose they hired you to be my guardian. So, what’s _your_ name?”

“I’m Magina, the – “ I stop short of telling him about my occupation. “Just call me Magina.”

“What a funny name,” he remarks. “Anyway, I don’t need you to protect me. I have my three friends!”

“Three friends?”

The boy throws his hands up in a big gesture, and three incandescent orbs, orange, violet and blue, spring up around him. Upon closer look, I notice each of these spheres has a face, with distinctive features.

“Here they are,” he declares. “This is Wex, he is really fast and he changes his mind a lot,” he introduces each of his orbs. “This is Quas, she can be nice, if she wants to. And this is Exort. He has a really bad temper!”

I raise my brows. “Very interesting.”

In a heartbeat, he’s already at the door, opening it. “Hey! It’s dangerous out there!” I call out, trying to reach him and make a grab for his sleeve. But the kid is fast, like an unstoppable ball of energy. Why does this feel so familiar? I groan inwardly.

Little Carl runs up to our deck, which is currently empty, to my relief. The sky is brightening as dawn arrives. The kid almost loses his balance as the ship dips and rises, waves slapping against its sides. Grabbing the railing to steady himself, he points at the sky, glowing peach as the sun rises above the horizon like a great ball of fire.

“Look!” he shouts in amazement.

I walk up beside him, suppressing a smirk tugging at my lips. “Haven’t you seen a sunrise before?”

“Of course I have,” he retorts. “But this is the first time I’m seeing the sun rise over the sea, like this!”

His face shines with sheer joy and wonder, framed by blazing golden hair flapping in the breeze. As I stare at him, a new feeling arises in me. It’s something I can’t identify, but I’d say that in a strange and wonderful way, it hurts.

“Oh - this just gave me an idea!” Little Carl suddenly pulls out a book and a pencil from his pocket, flips open the pages and scribbles something. “Harlek’s incantation of incineration,” he mumbles, brows wrinkling in concentration.

I watch him quietly as I try to make a guess of what powers he’s acquired at this age. “Idea for what?”

“A new spell,” he says solemnly. “Don’t you disturb me, purple man. I’m going into my room to work on it and when I’m done, it’s gonna be the most dangerous fire spell in the world! No one can escape from it!”

Flexing my newfound skill in humoring children, I nod patronizingly. “So what name will you give it?”

“Hmm,” Little Carl crosses his arms. For a moment he ponders, observing the sun shining on the rippling water, its golden light scattered among the waves. “I’ll tell you when I come up with one.”


	10. Handling the Child

* * *

I’m left alone on the deck, surrounded by the sparkling blue expanse of sea and sky. The morning’s weather is pleasant. After last night’s violence, the peace and comfort of dawn seems almost unsettling. As our boat plows steadily through the waters whipping up a mix of cool and warm breezes, I drift into a ten-minute silent meditation. When I open my eyes, I see the first hint that we’re approaching land – a sea bird.

Meanwhile, I think of a way to pass time, having been shut out of my own cabin by an eight-year-old brat. It’s my fault, of course, for allowing this to happen. I’m just no good at dealing with children. I have no idea how to stop him apart from manhandling him or straight out killing him.

Forty-nine days, Turath said that’s how long the spell would last, I recall as I wander aimlessly towards the middle of the boat. How am I supposed to put up with the brat for such a long time? It’s only been one day and he’s walking all over me.

Squinting against the glare of the morning sun, I notice our ship’s flag flying at half-mast, presumably as a sign of respect for the sailors who perished from the pirate attack. It dawns on me only now how treacherous the high seas can be. After passing by the crew’s bunks and the infirmary, my footsteps finally stop near the dining area. The smell of food makes my stomach growl.

Captain Gavin is inside the dining room. He is the last one to eat after ensuring all his men have eaten. I stand aside waiting for the last of the crew to leave before taking my seat beside him at the table.

“Here, have some,” he offers me a plate of salted meat and biscuits and a jug of clear water. I gratefully put the jug to my lips and drink, feeling refreshed. Despite having slept little, the captain’s posture at the table remains upright and alert. But there is sorrow in his weathered face. A brief conversation with him reveals that one of the injured crew has died from his wounds, bringing the total deaths to three. The bodies of the other two who fell into the sea during the scuffle, can’t be found. So there will be one man to bury when we reach land.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save all your men,” I tell him in a low voice.

“No, I’m the one responsible for them,” he insists, head slightly bowed. Then he looks at me. “But I must say, you’re a very skilled fighter. One of the best I’ve seen.”

“That is why I feel I’ve let you all down.”

“Don’t say that. You’ve done your best, you and your magus friend.”

Gulping down a mouthful of food, I decide it’s time to give him a proper explanation. “You must be wondering how the Invoker got on board. Why I brought him in,” I begin.

Having finished his meal, the captain clasps his hands and looks at me intently.

“Well, he’s allied with me,” I continue. “He’s been… wronged, so he’s on the run from the Tyler Estate. Rest assured that he’s not a threat to the ship.”

“Yes, of course. I know that I can trust you, my friend.” He rises and gives me a pat on the shoulder, getting ready to leave.

A quick glance out of the window reveals a strip of land in the distance, covered with lush vegetation. It’s my first sighting of land so far. “Is that where we’re heading for?”

He nods. “That’s one of the many island ports scattered around these waters. We’ll dock there for repairs and to restock our supplies.”     

“What kind of people live there?”

“Oh, all kinds. Pirates and honest seafarers alike, sailors who’re forced to find shelter from storms. There’re also the island’s residents who run the docks, the taverns, the mills and lumberyards. All these provide us with the materials we need.”

“Pirates?” I mutter, frowning. We can’t do battle again so soon, what with our weakened resources and young Carl still trying to figure out how his spells work.

“Don’t worry about them,” he says with a wave of his hand. “This island and the surrounding ones are overseen by Leviathan the Tidehunter and his group of Levianths, who maintain order and peace around the area.”

“Levianths? Are they inhabitants of the ocean?” With my limited knowledge of sea-dwellers, I only know of the Slithereen and nothing else.

“Yes, they are a race of Meranths, but they are different from, say, the Naga or the Slithereen. They’re very strong, so it’s best not to offend them.” 

“I see.” This clearly isn’t an issue, as there’s no reason for us to offend these guys. Wiping my plate clean with the last morsel of bread, my mind goes to Little Carl and whether he is hungry.

Suddenly, it occurs to me what a terrible idea it is to leave that boy alone in a room all by himself. What if he burns down the cabin while working on his ‘most dangerous fire spell in the world’?

I bolt up from the table, rushing out of the dining room. Our boat is slowing down as it approaches the shore, where I can see a few other vessels docked at the port and workers busy running back and forth along the path, unloading some cargo. As the _Emerald_ eases into her berth, the deckhands scramble onto the dock with their ropes and secure the boat in no time.

The fringe of the island is thick with trees and bushes bearing melons and other fruit that I can’t recognize. There are also open fields, farms with livestock and some huts scattered around. The main road runs parallel to the dock, lined with buildings that are probably the shops and taverns.  

From the distance, a hulking figure saunters towards us. I can tell that it’s not a human, though it walks on two legs. Bare-bodied except for a loincloth, it has skin the color of seaweed and a fish-like face with a gaping toothy mouth. One hand holds a mace made of some kind of bone, the other clutches a large anchor. This must be one of the Levianth enforcers.

Our captain shouts his greetings from across the gangplank, and the two begin a conversation that I can’t hear. I walk up briskly to them.

“We are assisting the Tyler Estate,” the fish-man speaks in a deep, sonorous voice. “Any vessel that stops by this island must be searched for fugitive mages.”

My fists tighten. I truly didn't expect one of them to be on this island. Composing myself quickly, I step up to the enforcer, looking him square in the eye.

“I am Magina the Anti-Mage, and I can assure you there are no mages on this ship.” My voice comes out steady despite the lie, and I turn to exchange a brief glance with the captain. He seems to understand, and keeps quiet.

The Levianth towers over me, surveying me with cold, yellow slitted eyes. “Thank you for letting me know. But I have direct orders from the Royal Sentry to search the boat. Step aside, sir, and let me do my job.”

He’s surprisingly well-mannered despite the savage appearance. Staring at his broad webbed feet and the heavy-looking anchor that he carries effortlessly in one hand, I contemplate on my options. I’ve already hurt two guards from the Tyler Estate because of Carl, and I really don’t want to get into a fight with this one.

“Well, then, Captain Gavin will lead the way.” I gesture towards the stern of the boat. To my relief, the enforcer proceeds in that direction with the captain, heading for the stairs leading to the stateroom. As he turns his back, I watch him pull out a pouch from his belt. I suspect it contains the Dust of Appearance.

I quickly turn and run down to the cabin that Carl has holed himself up in, racking my brains on what to do with him. A few minutes is all I have.

One push and the door flies open with a loud thud. Thankfully, the room isn’t in chaos. The furniture is exactly where it should be. The boy is standing on the bed, back facing me. He twists around with a gasp of surprise.

“Hey!”

“Shh!” I shut the door, putting a finger to my lips. My eyes sweep around the room, trying to find a way to hide him.

Instead of being annoyed at me for disturbing his concentration, Little Carl’s face glows with joy and his feet are literally bouncing off the bed.

“Look what I did!” he points to the other side of the room. Hovering near the bed is a modest-looking fire elemental, half the height of his usual ones. “I was working on the other fire spell and then I accidentally discovered this!”

Frowning, my eyes turn to rest briefly on the forged spirit, before moving to the cupboard behind it. Ah… it’s just the right size for him. Not for an adult, but Carl at his current size would fit inside nicely.

I march towards the boy, still jumping up and down on the bed. I grab him under the arms. “Sorry about this but –“

His eyes grow large as I lift him up. “Hey, what are you doing?” he giggles. He must think I’m playing a game with him.

But this kid isn’t dumb. As I carry him towards the cupboard, he realizes something is off and begins to kick and struggle to get free. All in vain, of course. He probably weighs no more than sixty pounds, and apparently, he hasn’t mastered the art of invisibility too.

The runty forged spirit spews fire at me, burning a hole in my pant leggings. Tucking Carl under one arm, I whip out a short blade with the other hand and swing it at the magical creature, slicing it apart at the neck.

“No!” Carl screams, watching his masterpiece fizzle out into a pile of ashes on the ground. “How could you do that! It’s the first time I created a fire elemental and you – you destroyed it!”

Ignoring his complaints and wriggling, I yank open the closet door. There’s a key hanging from the lock. The moment I shove him inside, his expression changes from anger to fear, and his shouting fades to sobbing. “Why…why are you doing this? Let me out you big bully.”

Pining his arms forcefully against his sides, I give him a stern look. “There are worse things than me out there. You will know this in future – that I’m not the bad guy.”

With practically zero chance of freeing himself from my iron grip, the boy eventually gives up struggling. “I don’t want to stay in here,” he pleads, tears rolling down his fleshy cheeks. “Let me out.”

“I’m doing this to protect you. I can’t explain this to you right now, but there are evil people coming for you. You need to stay in here for a while. Trust me, okay?”

The moment my hand moves to the door, his face crumples in panic, threatening to erupt into wails again.

“Shh, be quiet. And don’t start a fire,” I remind him before shutting the door and turning the key in the lock.

I stare blankly at the closed cupboard, clutching the key tight in my palm. I can feel my heartbeat coming down to a more acceptable pace.

No sound from him.

Releasing my breath, I sit down slowly on the edge of the bed. As my mind replays what I’ve done, I begin to regret handling the boy so roughly. Maybe I over-reacted, maybe all this fuss was unnecessary. Maybe no one would be able to recognize Carl in his current form.

But I can’t take any chances. I can’t bear the thought of letting the Tyler Estate get their hands on Carl  – that would be a fate worse than death. Nortrom isn’t going to spare him just because he’s a child. Considering the fact that Nortrom himself was abused as a child, he might be even more enthusiastic in his torture of young Carl. The thought draws an involuntary shudder.

If he dies, the spell is broken, according to that shitty wizard. But I don’t trust him. I wonder where he is now, what he’s done to Carl whom he’s supposed to have frozen in time. Is he literally frozen? What state will he be in when he returns? How I wish all this were just a bad dream.

Our moored boat bobs gently on the waves, and I stare out of the window, greeted by nothing but the serene sea and sky. At least the weather isn’t giving us trouble. Carl isn’t making a sound and I wonder if he is alright, whether he’s suffocating inside.

The door to our cabin bursts open. The Levianth enforcer enters, clearing his throat. He has to bend slightly as the ceiling is too low for him. I quickly rise and move to position myself in front of the cupboard.

“Just a minute sir,” he says, tossing a cursory glance around the room. His hunched form looks awkward in the cramped space.

“Go ahead,” I fold my arms, watching him release the dust of appearance. He looks as if he doesn’t expect to find anything, and he doesn’t.

As if as an afterthought, he pokes his head into the bathroom. Finding nothing, he turns around. 

“Sorry to have disturbed you, sir, and thank you for your cooperation.”

With a gracious nod, I lead him out of the door, up the stairs and out to the deck. The boat is almost empty, the captain and most of the crew gone to get their supplies from the island. I look around making sure everything is clear before I return to the cabin.

Entering the room, the first thing I do is to draw the curtains. And then I unlock the closet. The door swings open, and Little Carl is standing inside meekly, his face turned down into a pout.

“Why did you put me in here. I hate you,” he sniffles.

“You’re welcome.” I step back without touching him. I think I’ve traumatized him enough.

Stepping shakily out of the closet, he points an accusing finger at me. “You lied. You’re not my protector. And you destroyed my precious fire elemental! I bet you don’t know any magic, stupid purple man.”

In response, I glower at him, baring my teeth into a grimace. “Indeed, boy, there is nothing in this world I despise more than magic _._ ”

“What?” He reels back as if slapped. “How could you say that? You- you’re the meanest person in the world! I will destroy you now!” he stamps the floor in a rage. Multicolored orbs flicker into view around him, sizzling with arcane energy, their lifelike faces scowling at me.

Cute.  

“Whoa, whoa,” my hand reaches out to stop him. “This isn’t the place to fight.”

He doesn’t listen, of course. The moment his orbs shift colors, my counterspell shield materializes. He clearly isn’t prepared for this and proceeds to cast.

Holding back a smirk, I watch him gripped by his own frigid attack. “Cold Snap, huh.”

“You- you’re a big bully!” he gasps, arms clutching over his own chest. His face is red like an overripe peach.

I shrug with my hands out. “I didn’t do anything to you. You did it to yourself.”

We engage in a battle of glares for the next minute or so, and then his lips begin to quiver and his face crumples. Not again. Somehow, watching him cry feels more uncomfortable than being hit by a magical attack. I wouldn’t say it hurts _,_ but it sure is annoying as hell. _Oh stop whining, Carl. You really did bring this upon yourself._

Biting back my irritation, I walk over and squat down to meet him at eye level.

“I’m sorry. Stop crying, please.” The words pop out of my mouth slightly garbled.

He shakes his head and continues to sniffle. I almost want to hold his shoulders, but I refrain from touching him, seeing that he doesn’t trust me now.

“I’m sorry,” my tone is gentler this time. “I’ll explain everything to you later. And I’ll make it up to you. Are you hungry?”

That last word seems to do magic. He nods earnestly, his face brightening a notch.

“I’ll get you something to eat,” I stand up.

“Hmm," he purses his lips, thinking. "I want sausages and roast potatoes, and chocolate cake, and ice lollies,” he rattles off.

“Whoa, I’m not sure if I can get all these things here. Especially the last one.”

“I don’t care,” he raises his voice. “Get the food for me.”

“I don’t care that you don’t care, mister,” I snap back, turning away and marching out of the door. As it slams shut behind me, my hands reach up to rub my temples. The gift of innocence? Pfft. This whole thing has been nothing but a curse for me. For both of us.

 

* * *

 

“So I’m really a thousand years old?” he asks with his mouth half full of food. I managed to get him the sausages and potatoes, but not the sweets. In place of that is a slice of watermelon. He reacted a little disappointed at first, but is too hungry to resist the food.

“Uh. More than that. You were that old when I first met you.” I pause briefly, frowning at how absurd it all sounds.

I’ve started telling him a little about himself but I haven't gotten to the part about him being on the run from the Tyler Estate. For now he seems to be really fascinated by his age.

He chuckles, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement. “So, we were friends?”

“Sort of.”

“What did we do together?”

 _Rather embarrassing things_ , I close my eyes at the memories _._ But I won’t corrupt a child’s mind, of course. My mind suddenly flits back to the time he saved me from the Bloodseeker. It occurs to me that that might have been the first time I had any sort of… feelings for him. Well, it might have started before that, I’m not entirely sure. “We first met at one of those wars, with heroes and town portals and ancients and all that. We were on the same team.”

“Sounds fun,” he grins, sinking his teeth into the melon’s juicy red flesh. “Can we do that again?”

“No.”

“You’re no fun at all,” he grumbles, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“I’m supposed to protect you, remember? Not get you killed or maimed. You think having a spear stuck in your ribs is fun? You were in so much pain at that time.”

He cringes at my words. Good that they had the intended effect. “So where are we going now?” he asks, bright white eyes blinking inquisitively.

That’s when I remember our destination - the White Spire. According to _him_ (that is, Carl before he decided to have this sickening curse placed on himself), it’s a gangster’s paradise. Great. I can’t believe I’ll be lugging an eight-year-old into a land of lawless chaos. I’m not sure how long he’ll last there.   

  


End file.
